Prelude to an Affair
by chromeknickers
Summary: Every great love affair has a beginning: this is Draco and Ginevra's...
1. In Its Simplest Terms

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter One: In Its Simplest Terms_

_Love_.

In its simplest terms, it is just a four-letter word. Like other words of similar letter make-up, when expressed it can evoke laughter, pleasure, pain, anger, and virtually any wave of reaction.

_Reaction_.

That is what he sought from her. His one true goal was to simply get a rise out of her. All it took was a sneer, a smirk, a penetrating gaze full of pure, unadulterated hate reaching across to her from the other side of the room, unseen by the unobservant eye. But she saw. She reacted. She _always _reacted. She would never disappoint.

_Disappointment_.

His life was full of it. No one could ever measure up in his eyes. Like his father, he was trained to regard and judge others for their worth, or lack thereof. For him, no other but himself had merit; _no one _could impress him, but _she _could. She, the littlest of Weasels, somehow impressed him, or rather impressed _upon _him. He was never really quite sure why—she garnered no adulation, no regard, no sympathy. She did, however, elicit one thing from him:

_Fascination_.

He was simply fascinated with her. This captivation was not to be confused with admiration for, to him, she represented everything unholy and unclean. But she fascinated him nonetheless. Often he would just gaze at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Little did he know was that she was always looking for him.

She, in turn, never quite understood why she did, why she had to watch him. It surprised and often frightened her—his gazes, his stares. What shocked her most of all was that sometimes, just sometimes, when he looked at her, his stormy grey eyes were void of hate, and she felt her hatred for him slowly ebb away.

_Hatred_.

It was obvious to anyone who knew them that they hated one another. If you were to run into them by chance in the halls or observe them interact (or not interact) with one another, you would assume that there was nothing between them but just that. However, there was more to be said and seen than what was observed by the casual third party—so much more.

_Intrigue_.

He remembered the first time he saw her, floating shyly at her brother's side. He watched her get Sorted with a sneer on his face. She was small, mousy, and common. Not much had changed since then. She wasn't exceptionally pretty, but she was far from hideous. In fact, what made her stand out was what made her both enticing and repugnant at the same time: the Weasley-red hair and freckles.

_Obsession_.

He didn't think much of her back then, but the fact that he thought of her at all made her special, to him. When he saw her come back from the Chamber of Secrets unscathed, he knew that she was different. When he saw her return to school in the following years, changed and no longer infatuated with Potter, he felt relief and annoyance. When she blasted him with a spell that knocked him seven ways from Sunday, he felt desire.

_Want_.

Now, she seemed to plague his mind. This petite waif with bright red hair, honey-coloured eyes, and cinnamon-dotted freckles had quickly begun to haunt his dreams at night and slowly crept into his waking thoughts. Regrettably, there was no more denying these lingering, pestering thoughts. He wanted her.

_Desire_.

She remembered the first day she saw him—he had frightened her. He would sneer at her in a way that one would often mistake for a scowl. His high, ineffectual attitude, his pretentiousness—these were all attributes that made him unique. These same 'attributes' distanced him from everyone else—that is, except from her. She hated these things about him, yet she was attracted to them as well. In all honesty, he amazed her. His demeanour, his appearance: they created a compulsion within her.

_Need_.

She had never seen a man so beautiful. When she first met him, he was only a boy, but handsome beyond imagination. His hair was a shock of white-blond; his complexion was milky white. His eyes were a dark mercury-grey, hiding great depth and danger. His outward expression carried about an air of dignity and independence, but hidden deeply within she could sense his need for intimacy.

_Pride_.

Yet, he relentlessly pushed her away. She, of course, reacted. When he mocked her, she cried; when he threatened her, she cringed; when he teased her, she broke. It seemed as though she had no backbone, but she was proud and determined. To add a flavour of irony, they both shared this similar attribute. But after Tom, after the Chamber, Ginny no longer felt afraid. She had faced her ultimate fear and lived. Draco was no longer a threat, but he _was _the bane of her existence, and he could unravel her resolve with a smouldering gaze and an errant tug at his lips. That damn patented Malfoy smirk would become her Achilles's Heel. Over the years, however, her fear of him would rapidly grow to hate; her hatred would eventually turn into annoyance; finally, it would evolve into something else that was much more startling: _lust_.

There was no reason, no explanation for why Draco and Ginny suddenly felt the way they did. The sentiment of hatred, the only _rational_ feeling, still existed. But what of this unspoken attraction? Both became resigned to their fates, not knowing why they felt such conflicting emotions. In an ideal world, they could live their lives day in and day out with these errant thoughts only troubling their seemingly carefree teenage minds; however, nothing in life ever runs so smoothly. Their thoughts could remain just that: thoughts—never acted upon, never fulfilled. Destiny, it seemed, had other plans…

**xXx**

As the Wheel of Fortune turned, Ginny found herself in Potions class in the dungeons. She was serving detention for Snape because she had told him to kiss a toad when he tried to belittle her in class. Even though he was no longer the Potions professor, she believed that her having the best marks in the subject truly irked him. When he couldn't torture Harry or her brother, Ron's little sister was the next best thing. So, here she was dusting bottles and re-labelling them all under the watchful eye of the most annoying and least auspicious man she had ever come to know: Draco Malfoy. He was there to make sure she properly labelled and catalogued all of Snape's (now Slughorn's) potions, but the blond was far more interested in watching the redhead herself rather than what she was doing.

She felt his gaze on her back, and she couldn't resist rolling her eyes and placing her hands on her hips, letting out a protracted sigh.

"Take a picture, Malfoy. It'll last longer!" she snapped, glaring at Draco, giving him an _I'm-not-patient-enough-to-deal-with-your-shit-today _look.

She went back to dusting off the phials and affixing labels to them as the blond Slytherin snorted in the corner, bringing his feet up onto the desk.

"I'd rather take a picture of something that is a little more pleasing to the eye, Weasley," he replied, smacking his lips distastefully. "I'm not one to take snaps of circus folk." He sneered at her and then looked back down at his lap where he had placed his book, beginning to read.

Draco stared at his _History of Hogwarts _textbook and bit his lip in keen concentration. He had been trying to focus on the words, but his mind kept wandering back to how seductively sexy Weasley looked in her one-size-too-small shirt and pair of torn Muggle jeans, her hair swept back into a high ponytail. She was chewing her lips with a pained expression on her face. Suddenly, she began humming to herself, bending down to pick up the next case. Draco looked up and suppressed a moan as she exposed a nice view of her arse to him.

"That's incredibly distracting," he commented dryly, referring more so to Ginny's bending over than to her humming, though he would never let on. He wanted nothing more than to stroll up behind her, bend her over forcefully, and have a go at her, but she was a Weasley, and she was serving a detention. It would be improper and oh-so-naughty.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Malfoy. Did you want to request a song?" she asked, with a sardonic grin twisted on her face and an eyebrow cocked whimsically in the air.

What cheek. How he'd like to snog that cocky grin right off her face and knock her down a few pegs.

"Are your parents alcoholics?" Draco asked so suddenly and seriously that Ginny stood up, startled.

"What?" she asked dumbly. No one had ever asked her such a question before.

"A-l-c-o-h-o-l-i-c? Take to the drink, yeah?" he queried facetiously, sporting his own cocky grin as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I know what an alcoholic is, you prat! And no, they are not. Why do you ask?" She impatiently tapped her foot on the ground.

"I just figured that only the drink could have prevented your parents from shipping you straight off to the Americas or killing you outright. I mean, Weasley, do you _ever _shut up?" A small, satisfied grin tugged at his lips.

Ginny fumed and threw the rag that was in her hand onto the floor, storming over to the desk.

"Temper, temper, Weasley!" Draco tsked, waddling his finger in the air as she approached him.

His expression changed when she reached over and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him up, over, and across the top of the desk.

"I'll show you temper, Malfoy!" Ginny growled, as Draco's startled expression quickly turned into a lustful one.

No one had ever manhandled him like that. Her daring, her impetuousness, her strength—he could not take it any longer. He saw the fury in her eyes, and he felt the need to crush her, to break her just a little.

Draco pulled himself up and straightened his robes. In the process, he brought his arms up underneath hers and shoved her hands off his collar. He then grabbed her by her thin shirt and lifted her up over the desk onto his lap. As he tugged her over, he heard a rip and felt his hands pull away the fabric of her top.

A startled expression crossed Ginny's features as she landed on his lap with her shirt in his hands. Her arms flew up to her chest as she was only wearing a low-cut bra. The grey-eyed blond dropped the remains of her top to the floor and placed his large, cool hands on her sides. She jumped at his touch and looked down at him, wide-eyed.

"Where's this famous Weasley temper now?" Draco asked, grinning evilly at her reaction. "Why are you so speechless, Freckles?"

He looked her up and down with a tinge of captivated interest. She had a nice body, he had to admit, and it turned him on even more that she was modest about it. Ginny, in turn, stiffened, shutting her eyes tightly as he stroked his fingers along her sides. Her mouth opened slightly, and she let out a small sigh and shuddered. She felt his body tense underneath her, and her eyes fluttered open in surprise. She looked down into his eyes with childlike innocence then glanced down at his lap in confusion. She had felt something hard poke at her bottom while she was straddling his lap. He then shifted her weight on his lap with a grin and, in the process, drew her closer to him. His breath was on her neck.

"Still not talking?" he whispered seductively, a smirk still mockingly adorning his handsome face.

She opened her eyes languidly, as if coming out of a spell, and looked down into his cloudy eyes and growled. "Shut up, Malfoy!"

Draco was taken aback, but before he could retort, he saw a blur of tiny, pink hands reach down and grab his face, twining slender fingers through his hair. She lifted his head up violently towards her own and crashed her lips down onto his.

His reaction was immediate. As her small, pink tongue darted into his mouth, Draco quickly returned the fervent kiss and stood up with her still on his lap. He forcefully brushed away the papers on the desk in one swift motion and sat her down roughly, pausing only to reach back to tug off his robes. Ginny slipped her fingers out of his hair and reached down to his shoulders, aiding him. As his robes hit the floor, her tiny fingers deftly slipped into the waist of his trousers and began to tug him closer. Moaning, Draco felt her soft fingers rub against his sensitive underbelly then something hardened and rose. He had an itch that needed to be scratched, so he pulled Ginny on top of him, making her wrap her legs around his waist so that he could effectively grind into her. He pressed his hardness against her, making her mewl in pleasure.

**.oOo.**

"Mister Malfoy!" a voice cried, reaching into the recesses of Draco's mind. It sounded like Snape's. "You think you could stay awake for class? Tomorrow you have a test on what we covered today," Professor Snape announced, clearing his throat in an annoyed fashion. "I swear, sometimes you and Potter have more in common than you'd like to admit." The DADA instructor shook his head disapprovingly, a dissatisfied look plastered on his sallow face.

Draco stared back at Snape, blinking. He had fallen asleep in class! Everyone was looking at him in shock; some were openly snickering at him. His mouth snapped shut, but his eyes remained wide, if only for a moment. Draco Malfoy had had an erotic dream about Ginny Weasley!

Draco groaned to himself and buried his head in his hands as Snape turned around and continued his lecture while the Gryffindors and the Slytherins eyed the blond cautiously.

"Salazar, no!" he moaned, trying not to think about Ginny Weasley's sweet smelling hair and soft, rosebud lips.

**.oOo.**

"Miss Weasley!" Professor McGonagall hissed.

Ginny's head shot up from her desk. She had just been imagining that she and Draco Malfoy were snogging in the Potions classroom.

"Uhhh, yeah?" Ginny blinked, not quite sure if any of this was real.

It looked as though she was in Transfiguration class, but she felt that the dungeons, earlier, were real as well.

"Would you like to stay awake for class, or would you rather me fetch you a pillow?" McGonagall asked, a wry grin planted on her face.

Ginny blushed a scarlet-red. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, trying not to look up as the rest of the class giggled at her.

McGonagall resumed her lesson, and Ginny tried to pay attention, but her mind kept reverting to her dream.

_I was snogging Draco Malfoy!_ she screamed in her mind, burying her face in her parchment.

It wasn't the fact that she had been snogging Malfoy that upset her; it was the fact that she had liked it.

_Oh Merlin!_

**xXx**


	2. The Power Play

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Two: The Power Play_

Life had never been a simple notion for Draco Malfoy; it had always been far from the ordinary. Since his conception, he had been moulded into a life that was not of own making. He was bred to be the most intelligent, the most sophisticated, the most powerful. He was the heir to a fortune, to a name that instilled fear in most men's hearts. He was groomed to be treated like royalty and to regard others with contempt, for they had been born into the bondage of servitude. And while Draco's life was one of luxury, intrigue, and power, contrary to what most people assumed, his father did not abuse him, not physically at least. However, there were other forms of torture that did not involve corporal lacerations. Lucius's speciality was torment of the mind: harsh words for bad deeds, rewards for good behaviour. It was like training a bitch. Lucius knew how to break his progeny at an early age: all it took was the removal of hope and suppression of the will. His son would prove to be his greatest accomplishment. Though the apple does not fall far from the tree, Draco was his own man; he was a survivor. All survivors, however, need something to hold on to if they wish to weather the storm of the inevitable.

**xXx**

Draco roamed aimlessly down the hallways as though in a dream. He drifted in and out of doors, up stairs, through corridors, and down halls. Although he wasn't entirely certain of his destination, he was conscious of a feeling—that he had to be somewhere. His eyes remained blind to the deeds of his hand that fumbled almost uncertainly into his pocket to withdraw his wand. He tapped lightly on a portrait door, muttered a password, and the door swung open in response. As he made to step across the threshold, he stopped abruptly in his tracks. Two bright, round brown eyes, wide as doe eyes and just as innocent, met his.

"Malfoy?" a low but soft voice questioned incredulously.

Ginny Weasley stood motionlessly in the doorway of her room as two startled and alluring grey eyes stared back into her soft caramel-coloured ones.

"Weasley?" Draco queried, looking nonplussed.

There was no anger or contempt in his voice. He did not add the usual derisory drawl to her last name. Absent were the steely gaze and the patented Malfoy smirk. He was genuinely confused as to why he was standing in front of the petite redhead.

"What are you doing in my room?" he asked abrasively, suddenly aware that a Gryffindor was in the nest of a Slytherin.

"_Your_ room?" The redhead began to laugh.

Draco was taken aback by her audacity. She was in his room, obviously snooping for Potter, and she was laughing in his face about it!

"Did Potter send you to rummage through my belongings, Weaselette?" Draco snarled, stepping towards her. He reached out and clutched her pale, delicate wrist in his equally pale but manicured hand.

"Have you gone completely mad, Malfoy?" Ginny hissed, daringly wresting her wrist free of his tight grasp. "You're in _my _room, you bloody prat!" She brought her hands to her hips and looked up at him with a type of controlled fury.

Draco stood back and glanced about the room, taking in the décor. The bedroom was small and plainly adorned. Gold and maroon were everywhere: on the walls, on the bed, and on the curtains. He made a face and narrowed his eyes on the small, double-sized bed where clothes lay strewn about. A hairbrush with elastics laid on top a dresser to his immediate right. This was definitely not his room. He had made his way into the Weasley girl's bedroom. But how?

"I—" Draco stopped and straightened himself out.

He was desperately trying to think of a scathing remark when the littlest Weasel took a step towards him, a grin playing across her pretty face.

"Did you get lost, Malfoy?" she asked, her grin widening.

Boldly, she drew closer. He could smell a hint of cinnamon and vanilla wafting from her hair, and he closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sight of this delicate waif of a creature stealthily advancing on him, like a lionesses stalking her prey.

"Freckles, nothing I do is without reason; no act is without purpose," he replied, opening his steel grey eyes with resolve and looking directly into hers.

She seemed startled by this. She stood up to her full height, which wasn't much, and cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. Once again, Draco could not believe her audacity, her foolishness in appraising him so. No one looked at a Malfoy in this manner. No one judged or questioned him as she was doing just now. _No one_.

"How did you get in here?" she finally asked, edging closer to him, but cautiously now.

Draco followed her path. It was almost amusing to watch her stalk him, approaching him like something that could attack or harm her. And he could. Merlin how could he hurt her.

"I know many things about you, _Ginevra_," he lied, not sure why.

Draco had recalled the girl's father calling her by that name when he first saw her with her brother and Potter in Diagon Alley so many years ago, but how he had figured out her password, he hadn't a clue. He couldn't let her think that he had made his way to her room by sheer folly. He couldn't let her know that he had simply sleep-walked his way to her room, still thinking about the dream that he had about her earlier that day, a dream that had caused him to amble off to his room to have a cold shower. Well, at least he thought it was his room.

_How could I possibly mistake my way from the dungeons to the towers?_ he asked himself in a chastising manner. _Wait-a-sec, why does the Weaselette have her own room with private entrance?_

He paused on this thought. There was no way he could have reached the Gryffindor dormitories without having to go through their common room first. This Weasley girl apparently had her own place apart from the common room but connected to it as well, much like his private quarters in the dungeons. While he pondered on the issue, the Weasley girl had begun to inch closer towards him. Now she was only an arm's length away. She straightened herself up, looking as proper as a Weasley could, and delivered him a satirical smile.

"Oh, you do now, do you, _Draco_?"

Draco winced. He had never heard her call him by his first name, but then he had never had many conversations with her. He had to admit that hearing it from her lips sounded off. Few people ever addressed him by his given name, except his mother and father. Even his fellow Slytherins called him Malfoy, with exceptions to Blaise and, unfortunately, Pansy.

Draco took a step closer. He towered above her—her face only inches away from his neck. He could feel her hot breath on his skin and tried desperately not to shiver. He somehow managed the courage to look down into her almond-shaped eyes and forced back the mental voice that had begun to castigate, reproaching himself for acting and feeling this way. Draco was never afraid, least of all, to look a beautiful girl in the eyes. He winced again. He had just admitted that he found Ginny Weasley attractive.

She looked up into his now stormy eyes, and although appearing alarmed, she stood her ground. She was not easily shaken, an attitude she must have acquired from living in a household full of boys. However, Draco knew that he was intimidating her. He carried an air of authority and power. He had a way of making one feel awkward and uncomfortable, like the sensation of being out of one's own skin. He was in her room, yet he commanded a presence that made her feel like she was invading _his_ territory.

As if startled from a dream, or the realisation that this was entirely wrong, Ginny stepped back, suffocated by their closeness. In doing so, she tripped and, with arms outstretched, she pin-wheeled backwards, grasping at thin air. Draco reacted instinctively, reaching out with strong hands to catch her by the waist. Time seemed to slow down as he pulled her back up towards him, close to his chest. He seemed to hold her there for an eternity as both of them breathed heavily. She looked up into his eyes; her lips were parted and wet. Draco managed to suppress a groan, as he looked down at her lovely face, so sweet and innocent. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and he was captured by her vulnerability. She looked so inviting that he leant down, his lips barely grazing hers. Suddenly, he stopped himself, remembering who he was and who _she _was.

"Tell Potter that everything that is his will one day be mine," he whispered in her ear, coldly peering down into her eyes that had opened in shock.

Draco had taken advantage of the moment. He had put his power play into motion. Abruptly, he let go of her and stormed out the door with a flourish of robes and a ruffle of his long, white-blond hair.

**xXx**

Draco stormed out of Ginny's room, enraged and elated: enraged at his near loss of control with the little Weasel but elated at the opportunity that the situation had presented. Still, he was foolish. He had almost kissed a Weasley! It was so common and low that he felt sick to his stomach. He had to admit that he had made an excellent recovery and, in the process, thought up a delightfully evil plan for tormenting Potter: he would steal his girlfriend and humiliate her. As he walked towards his room, the devilish smile on his lips began to falter. He could not help but think about how lovely the Weasley girl looked, how innocent. How far would he go to get his revenge on Potter? Would he take away that innocence? Draco shook his head, trying to clear away the disturbing cobwebs of his meditations. It didn't matter what he did to her. She was just a common Mudblood-lover. She meant nothing to him.

"Draco?" a familiar voice called out. It was Blaise Zabini.

Draco spun around to look at his mate, who was sporting an amused but perplexed expression on his face. "Blaise?"

"Did I just see you come out of the Weasley girl's room?" Blaise asked, catching up with the blond-haired Slytherin.

Draco opened his mouth to reply to the tall Slytherin but then thought about it, closed his mouth, and wrinkled his brow in concentration. "How do you know where the She-Weasel's room is?" he demanded. "And for that matter, why does that little Gryffindor have a room to herself?"

Why _did _a fifth-year have a room to herself? She wasn't Head Girl—she was too young for that. Besides, the Head Boy and Head Girl didn't have their own rooms any more, not since well before his father's time. She couldn't have been able to purchase her own private quarters through family 'donations' like the Malfoys did—her family was poor. So how?

"Well that doesn't answer _my_ question," Blaise responded, laughing, but answered Draco's enquiry nonetheless. "Most of the guys around here try to keep track of where all the pretty girls' rooms are, even the Gryffindors." Blaise shrugged his shoulders and then thought over Draco's second question. "I'm not sure why she has her own room. I heard she's had it for quite a while. Maybe it has something to do with our second year and the Chamber of Secrets."

Draco frowned and wondered if this were true. He and Blaise knew some of the specifics of the sordid event that had taken place during their second year thanks to Draco's father. After all, Lucius was the one who given the little Weasley girl the journal. Of course, Draco was never told what the book was for or how it was linked to some mysterious chamber hidden below the school. All he knew was that the little red-haired girl was involved and somehow survived. Draco told Blaise what he knew, as he trusted no other.

Draco looked at his mate again, trying to determine if the golden-eyed boy liked the Weasley girl. They were in Slughorn's little club together, plus this was not the first time that Blaise had remarked on how pretty the redhead was. He shook his head and quietly laughed to himself. It shouldn't matter to him if others thought that Ginny Weasley was pretty.

"So now answer _my_ question," Blaise said, changing the subject with a grin on his face.

Draco shrugged his shoulders and turned around, heading towards his room as Blaise followed. "I plan on using her to get to Potter," he stated simply.

He finally made his way down from the Gryffindor Tower to the Entrance Hall and entered the door on the left. Blaise followed him down the corridors until they reached the stone wall to enter the Slytherin common room.

"Using her—to get information from or for sport?" Blaise asked.

Draco said the password, and they both stepped inside. He turned back to regard his best mate with a smirk.

"For both," he replied.

Draco then lowered his head as he made his way towards his own private room, leaving behind an amused and curious Blaise Zabini. He could answer his mate's questions later. Right now, he needed to take a very cold shower.

**xXx**


	3. Desperation

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Three: Desperation_

Ginny Weasley's life was that of a loner, an amiable social pariah. Life, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony. She was friendly, to be sure, and had friends. Friends—such a loose term for what they really were—'friendly acquaintances', perhaps. No matter. Ginny slowly grew into her own and became 'popular' with the boys. No, not in _that_ way, but there were always whispered innuendos floating around the Great Hall just as ever-present as Headless Nick or the more peevishly persistent Peeves. Pretty girls that liked to date; pretty girls that kissed boys. Oh, it wasn't that many boys, just two. Secretly though, they were just a waste of time—something to fill the void, boys to practice on before him: her hero, Harry Potter. For years, she idolised him. Over time, however, her infatuation began to wane. Harry never noticed her. So why should she waste her time on someone who could never love her back? In the end, Ginny decided that it was best to just give up and get over him.

Was Ginny over Harry? Every day, she would convince herself that she had. Of course, such a belief usually lends to the credence that if one needs convincing, one cannot truly be over something. Apathy was the true key to forgetting, but Ginny lacked the emotional void that made apathy possible. If only she didn't care what others thought—a certain trait that one particular boy possessed. Ginny did not want to think about _that_ boy though. The lingering thoughts of imagined satin-smooth hands on her sides, however, were enough to push the act of convincing out of her mind altogether. It was true. Ginny _was_ no longer infatuated with Harry. She had a new infatuation now. No, wait. Scratch that. It wasn't so new.

**xXx**

Ginny woke up in hot sweat; her breathing came to her in sharp, rapid gasps for air. She clutched blindly at her breast, feeling her heart beat wildly. It thudded so loudly that she feared others could hear it, could feel the vibrations of it. Her face was hot and burning. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, then she swiftly re-focused. She caught her breath and held it. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia took hold of her, and she was seized by the desire of flight—the need to flee.

She flipped back her sheets in haste and quickly jumped out of bed, tiptoeing towards the portal entrance. She put her palms flat against either side of the frame, cooling her cheek against the wood as she let her breath release. She steadied herself, opened the door, and stepped barefoot out onto the stairway. She then descended the stairs in haste, not knowing where she was going or even what she was doing. The primal instinct that pulsated inside her was the need to escape. Her feet barely made a sound as she swiftly ran across the hall and down the corridors.

Ginny knew several different secret routes out of the castle—areas the twins had shown her and others that she, herself, had discovered. The school's security was not as airtight as everyone supposed, nor were the Marauders and the famous Trio the only ones to know its passages. Hogwarts meant for you to escape if the need presented itself.

The need was there.

With no wand in hand, Ginny had to travel the less accessible path: bounding down stairs then back up some, past hidden rooms, and down even more sets of stairs, descending into the labyrinth of the dungeons. When she stopped running, she felt her heart leap into her throat, and a dreadful fear overtook her body. She had made her way down, deep into the dungeons. She was so close to the Chamber now, so very close—directly above it. Even now, sometimes—just sometimes—she could feel him near, could feel Tom.

She steadied her nerves as soundly as she could with her hand on her chest, hoping her fingers could slow the beating of her heart. She tiptoed closer to one of the doors of the classrooms. She knew that they were locked and could not even dream of getting in without a wand, but she still tentatively reached a hand out to touch the cold, unyielding doors. They relented with an eerie silence.

Ginny hesitantly stepped forward. Each step brought goosebumps up her naked legs, settling on her thighs. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to rub warmth into her equally cold and naked limbs. She let out a breath, as she spotted a chair at the back corner of the room. Her breath materialised momentarily in the cold dankness, and she shivered, walking less confidently towards a desk, Tom Riddle's desk. Yes, _his_ desk.

Very few people knew Voldemort's real name. Ginny was one of those unlucky few. In order to have her trust him, Tom had allowed Ginny to be privy to some of his most intimate thoughts. He had told her things about himself that not even his most devout followers knew. So, Ginny knew exactly where Tom sat in each classroom. The Potions room, however, disturbed her the most. It was in this room that Tom did most of his scheming and…experiments. There, in the corner, next to the bookcase near the gargoyle fountain, Tom had made his own means of escape.

Ginny shuddered at the recollection of their conversations. She tried to force the negative thoughts and mental images out of her mind as she slowly walked past the desk, eyeing it as one would eye a venomous snake. Her toes were numb as they softly paced the cold, hard ground. Her eyes darted to the very corner of the room where the bookcase stood, then she quickly redirected her gaze back to Tom's desk.

A panic suddenly overtook her, but quickly dissipated. Her anxiety left the moment she realised that she hadn't taken in a breath since she first stepped into the room. Scowling at her own stupidity, Ginny gulped in a cold breath of air and laughed reproachfully at herself. The laughter died instantly in her throat when she heard the soft thud of shoes on floor, slowly approaching the classroom. She gasped and quickly ran over to the bookcase, trying to pull it back as quietly as possible. A harsh, grating noise sounded against her ears, and she winced with the bookcase close to her chest, holding onto it tightly with eyes closed. The footsteps stopped, and Ginny held her breath again. A second passed and then another. Silence. Then the pace of the footsteps quickened, as if intent on finding her.

"Stupid!" Ginny cursed under her breath, and glanced back to see that the steel doors were open. She should have closed them. She had let her fear of the room take hold of her.

She quickly wriggled her body behind the bookcase, pulling it behind her, not caring about the grating sound as the footsteps approached nearer, becoming deafeningly loud. She squatted on her haunches, hugging her knees in close to her chest, as she heard the mysterious stranger enter the room. The footsteps were now slow and methodical, walking the length of the room, searching. Ginny lowered her hands and felt for the wall behind her, groping blindly for what she had been searching for earlier, what she so desperately needed now. She felt the latch. Quietly, she spun around on her feet, grateful that she was barefoot. Slowly, almost painfully, she opened the latch and began to pull the hidden door open. The door made no sound, but the crumbling of dirt and rocks from the hidden tunnel above did.

Ginny sat there, frozen, as a small downpour of dirt trickled onto her face. She opened her eyes through the dirt and saw the moon overhead, safety only eight feet above her. She listened for the footsteps. Silence. She leaned forward with her body, reaching upward with her right arm, sliding it quietly through the small, hidden door. Suddenly, she heard the bookcase scrape behind her. She gasped in a fresh downpour of dirt and launched her body upward, manoeuvring herself up the small shaft that barely fit her slim body.

She felt long fingers encircle her ankle, and she cried out, screaming and kicking at the unseen hand with her other foot. She then dug her nails into the dirt and began to pull herself up towards the night sky with an amazing burst of panic-stricken strength. Ginny, at that moment, would have crawled through Hell to escape what terror waited beneath her.

She dug her fingers deeper into the soft ground and pulled herself up out of the tunnel through the hollow bush that covered the entrance. She collapsed onto the ground and sobbed quietly, coughing up dirt, as she finished pulling her legs out of the hole. With courage and curiosity overtaking her, she stood up and dared to look back down into the pit. Red eyes gleamed up at her through sunken craters in a white skull that was barely covered with translucent white flesh. Long, bony fingers stretched upward through the opening, as though willing themselves longer so that they could reach her.

The skull's mouth stretched open wide as a long, black tongue escaped between pointed teeth, hissing, "Ginevra!"

Ginny screamed a blood-curdling cry and backed away, falling down hard on her back. She continued to struggle backwards on her hands, never taking her eyes off the hole, afraid that Voldemort would crawl out of it and consume her. She slowly turned over and scrambled to her feet, intent on taking off in hot flight away from the school. She then stood up and rushed forward into a solid object. She gasped and began to pin-wheel backwards, losing her balance, when the solid object grew arms and caught her. It was a familiar feeling of déjà vu.

"Weasley, you look like shit," Draco Malfoy commented with a hint of annoyance, after having already caught the girl for the second time in one day.

He held her arms roughly, trying to bring her back up straight. Her face was covered with dirt, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Her nails were bloodied and torn. What clothes she had on were torn and filthy. She looked like had just been chased by a pack of wild dogs through a swamp. What was even more spectacular and odd was the fact that she didn't even seem to register or acknowledge his presence. Her eyes were peeled back in wide-eye terror, looking over her shoulder towards a spot near the ground at the castle wall.

"Weasley!" Draco shook her roughly by the shoulders, trying to get her attention.

Her eyes shot back at him, and he tried not to show his unease. The girl looked positively mad.

"V-Voldemort!" she whispered with desperation in her voice, clutching at his robes.

Draco winced as he watched her blood seep onto his robes. He was more concerned about her touching him than what she was saying.

"What the bloody hell are you blathering on about, Weasley?" he asked with disgust, trying to pry her fingers off his person.

She was attempting to manhandle him, and he really did not have the patience for it tonight. His eyes widened momentarily when he felt the girl grab his hand and start tugging him along with her towards the forest.

Draco Malfoy was being half-dragged across the school grounds by a five-foot-nothing redhead covered in dirt! If anyone in his house ever found out about this, he would never live it down. So, with gritted teeth, he quickly steadied his footing to a halt and yanked the little Weasley into him. She stumbled back into his chest and regained her balance, looking up at him with frightened yet impatient eyes.

"What are you doing, Malfoy? We can't stop. We have to go NOW!" she ordered, trying to pull Draco forward again.

He would not relent. His eyes were steel and resolute. There was blood and dirt on his robes, and his lips were pulled back into a characteristic sneer.

"You think _you_ can give _me_ orders, Weasley?" he barked. He let go of her hand but quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him as he bent down, glaring down at her. "What is the meaning of all of this?"

"Voldemort is here!" she hissed, trying to free her wrist from his grasp. Unable to do so, she fervently looked over his shoulder, straining to see if the Dark Lord had escaped through the tunnel.

Draco blinked and looked down at her, following her gaze to the spot behind him. He then turned his head back around to face her, looking down at her anew. He finally released her wrist with contempt. So, the Weasley girl was mental. Lovely.

Ginny grabbed her wrist with her other hand and rubbed it, peering up at him through dirty, dishevelled hair, never fully taking her eyes away from the background behind him.

"You had a _nightmare_, Weasley," he drawled, utterly irritated.

She was just a silly Muggle-lover who was worked up over a dream. It amazed Draco how these Gryffindors would get themselves so worked up over the Dark Lord that they imagined he was stalking them. Like he gave a rat's arse about anyone at the school other than Pot-head and Dumbledore.

All Draco had wanted to do was to come outside for a nice midnight stroll, to settle his insomniac mind. Instead, he got trampled on and clung to by this girl—the littlest Weasley who seemed to follow him to or arrive at every place he went to seek solitude today. Now, she was babbling incoherent nonsense to him about the Dark Lord after he caught and actually comforted the daft chit, just because of some stupid, silly nightmare she had.

"It wasn't a nightmare!" she said, seething with contempt.

Ginny desperately needed to get away. She was free of his grasp now, so why did she not leave? Nothing was keeping her there. Was she afraid to go by herself? Was she afraid for his safety? Did—did she feel safer when Malfoy was with her?

_That's absurd!_ she scoffed in her mind.

Draco observed, in silence, the conflict that arose on the redhead's face. He saw that she was considering several opposing ideas. Why was she still there standing with him if she was so afraid? She was shaking like a leaf not because of absolute fear but because of the cold. He, too, was feeling quite chilled in the cool September air.

Draco sighed at what he was about to do, not quite comprehending _why_ he was doing it. He slowly took off his robes and draped them over the shivering Weasley girl, and she looked up at him in shock.

"T-Thank-you, Malfoy. I—"

Draco cut off Ginny's astounded words of thanks with a wave of his hand and pointed towards the school. "Consider it _charity_, Weasley. _Mine_. The quicker you stop your jabbering and get back inside the castle, the sooner I can deduct points from your house for being outside after hours. Then I can finally go back to bed."

Ginny stared up at him with murder glinting in her eyes. All thoughts of Voldemort chasing her rushed to the back of her mind. She threw off his robes in a dramatic flourish and tossed them several feet away. Draco, open-mouthed, blenched at her rudeness. Ginny, on the other hand, steeled her resolve and folded her arms across her chest.

"You can sod right off, Malfoy!" she spat. "I do not take anyone's charity, least of all a Malfoy's! Go back into the castle if you damn well feel like it, but I am doing what I like, and bugger the supposed consequences you have to offer, you whinging git!" She then spun around and turned off in a huff in the opposite direction.

"You impudent tart!" Draco snarled, calling after her, abandoning his fallen robes.

He quickly caught up with her and reached out to harshly grab her shoulder. Ginny spun around out of his reach, avoiding his tenacious grip, and began to push him backwards, driving her little fists into his chest.

"You arrogant pillock!" she cried, repeatedly pushing him back. "What are _you_ doing out here to begin with? How can you deduct points for _my_ being outside without explaining why _you_ were, you brilliant prat?"

Ginny was no longer in control of her emotions as she pushed him back harder and harder, pounding her fists into him. Tears threatened to brim and stream down her dirt-stained face. The nightmare, being pursued by Voldemort, and now Malfoy's verbal abuse? It was all too much.

Draco quickly recovered from Ginny's manhandling and caught both her wrists in his steely grip. "Know your _place_, Weasley, and calm the bloody hell down!" he bellowed with authority, causing her to momentarily look up at him in fright. He released her hands in disgust. "Now get back into that castle before I drag you there myself by the roots of your Weasley-red hair!" He stood menacingly above her, pumping his fists in anger. Not many could bring him to this kind of uncontrolled fury.

Ginny's eyes narrowed, and she pulled her right hand back and slapped Draco hard across his left cheek.

He quickly caught her right hand and looked back down at her with seething rage, his nostrils flaring. "You whore!"

Then, just as quickly, Ginny's left hand flew up and slapped him across his right cheek. "Bastard!"

Draco's eyes darkened, and he grabbed her other hand, digging his well-manicured nails into her pale flesh. No one had ever slapped him before. _No one_! He looked down into her equally glinting eyes as he breathed raggedly. He was bound to beat her senseless in return. No one treated a Malfoy like this!

He dug his nails in deeper, steeling his grip on her as he continued to stare into her hate-filled eyes. He pushed her arms against her sides and lifted her up, closer to him. She was small and light; he was big and strong. He knew that he was hurting her even though she tried not to show it. He grinned evilly as he spoke slowly and evenly, pulling her face close to his.

"I will _kill_ you, Weasley," he ground out, his voice full of venom.

Ginny narrowed her eyes and rejoined with an equally scathing reply, "Not if I kill you _first_, Malfoy!"

Draco's eyes lightened at her jest, then he sneered. "Bitch!"

Suddenly, his lips crushed against hers, biting down on her tender bottom lip, sucking the breath out of her lungs. He darted his tongue into her mouth and danced it along hers. Ginny moaned and rolled her eyes back into her head, wresting her hands from his grasp and entwining her fingers into his hair while her other hand held onto his neck.

He lifted her up onto him and hungrily devoured her mouth, pulling her small body against his larger frame, feeling her small chest press up against his broader one. He ran his hand up through her messy hair and grabbed her ponytail, yanking her head back, exposing her neck that was free from dirt. He sank his teeth into her flesh, biting gently, trying not to puncture the skin as he gently sucked and licked at her exposed neck.

Ginny bucked against him, turning her mouth to his sweet-smelling neck. She flicked her tongue along the sensitive nape, trailing soft kisses up towards his chin. He captured her lips once more and brought both his palms down to her arse, cupping it in both hands as he brought her torso against his. Both moaned in pleasure, oblivious to who was the cause of it.

Without warning, Draco's lips were torn loose from Ginny's, and she watched in abject horror as his body seemed to be sucked backwards, thrown up into the sky with his arms reaching out for her. His eyes held a look of shock as he was launched up in the air, away from her by some unseen, powerful force. She felt something behind her and gasped. Her fingers lay resting on her swollen lips as she slowly turned around.

Brown eyes met red.

"It's time for you to come home, Ginevra!"

**.oOo.**

Ginny shot up out of bed for the second time—this time in a cold sweat. She clutched at her chest. Her worst fears had been realised. Tom was back...for her.

_Not again_, she sobbed as she sat up on her bed. She clasped her arms tightly around her knees and began to pray for a miracle that she knew could never be delivered.

**.oOo.**

Draco sat up in his bed, as small beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. His heart was beating fast, so he cleared his throat and tried to calm himself down. He gripped the bed sheets and folded them back, rising to his feet. Trying to relax, he turned to look out his charmed window and gazed out at the moon. Although his room was situated under the lake, Draco preferred a tower view, so he had his window magically altered. But even the enchanted view of the full moon could not calm his nerves. He was having dreams about the Weasley girl again.

_Why does it feel like I was dreaming her dream?_ he thought to himself, shaking his head.

He had dreamt of himself attempting to comfort the Weasley girl, arguing with her, and then kissing her! Then he saw—no, he _felt_ himself being thrown back, away from her. But this was all so ridiculous. He wasn't there. It never happened. If it was a dream, then it was hers alone.

Draco grimaced and sighed, deciding to forget this nonsense and go back to bed. He convinced himself that he was thinking about this girl because he had planned to use her in a scheme to get back at Potter and her git of a brother, Ron. Yes, his mind was playing tricks on him because he was tired and stressed. All he needed was sleep—sleep and he'd be fine.

So, both teenagers attempted to go back to sleep, convincing themselves that it was all just a dream. The black night blanketed the castle, masking evil with its dark cover, and somewhere outside on the ground, fluttering in the breeze, was the torn sleeve of a black robe.

**xXx**


	4. Bloody Robes, Bloody Confusing

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Four: Bloody Robes, Bloody Confusing_

Draco heard Blaise approach the door before he had even begun to knock. Eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, he solemnly said 'enter' before his mate was able to wrap his knuckles against the cool portrait's surface. The door swung open ceremoniously, and the dark-haired Slytherin peeked his head inside.

"Acromantula senses tingling this morning, mate?" Blaise asked, a grin spreading across his dark features as he stepped through the portrait door.

He approached his mate's bed with long, quick strides, looking down at the pale and obviously tired-looking princeling.

"No," Draco replied tersely, still staring up at the ceiling with his fingers laced together behind his head. "Your cologne just happens to precede you everywhere you go."

Draco sat up and wrinkled his nose, holding up the upper half of his body with his slender yet well-toned arms. He then took his right hand, while balancing himself upright with his left, and dragged his fingers through his floppy fringe in utter boredom. He glared up, squinting through an open eye at his mate, who was already fully dressed.

"What did you want?" Draco finally asked, taking the bait.

Blaise's grin cracked even wider, showing perfectly straight and even pearly-white teeth. "Cut to the chase then, Draco? No small talk between old mates?" He feigned a look of hurt and clutched at his supposedly wounded heart.

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed, bringing his head down and his other hand onto the bed. He braced himself as he breathed out through his nostrils in a huff. He then cocked his head upwards and to the side, scowling at the ordinarily unflappable Slytherin. He was going for the bored, putout, and extremely annoyed look. He was pulling it off splendidly.

Blaise quickly caught on, but his grin never faltered. "I was sent to come get you for Quidditch practice. You're late!" He then kicked at Draco's bed for good measure. "Get up, already!"

Blaise kicked at his bed again and grinned like a child. Draco, who had been running his fingers through his hair as his mate spoke, quickly removed them, leaving his blond locks sticking up in every-which direction.

"It's Friday morning!" Draco exclaimed. "Classes are not for another half hour, and practice isn't 'til Saturday morn'."

He rubbed his sore, red eyes, closed them, and then flopped his head back down onto his pillow in an irate fashion. He was rustled from a good staring competition with the ceiling for this?

Blaise snorted in response, which caused Draco to open one eye and look up at him.

"What?" Draco was really starting to get annoyed with dark-haired boy's impertinence.

"It _is_ Saturday morning, Draco," Blaise replied almost incredulously, laughing at Draco's expense.

The blond opened both eyes now, sat straight up, and glared at the mocha-coloured boy. "Are you trying to take the piss, Zabini?" Draco's eyes had narrowed into mercury slits.

Blaise began to shift on his feet. "No. Check the bloody calendar," he said, pointing to the calendar that hung above Draco's dresser. "I don't know what you were doing or _who_ you were doing last night, but today is Saturday, and you're late for practice."

Draco looked at the calendar and saw the day and time illuminated in red, indicating that it was indeed Saturday morning. His friend was correct. He quickly jumped up out of bed and pushed his mate aside, making his way to his dresser to put on his Quidditch gear.

"I'll be down in fifteen minutes!" Draco shouted to Blaise, who was already walking across the room to the door.

Draco was trying to pull his jersey down over his head while his trousers were half done up and drooped about his hips. Blaise laughed and then stepped outside and peered back in at him through the opening. By now, Draco was hopping around on one foot, desperately attempting to put his boots on with his shirt half pulled down and his trousers still undone.

"You just want to hurry me out of here so you can release the little trollop you have hidden somewhere inside." Blaise laughed again and then ducked as Draco's other boot was launched at his head from the other side of the room.

**xXx**

Ginny woke up with a start and looked over at her clock. She had almost slept in for class. She jumped up out of bed and threw on her dress uniform and stockings as she fumbled about, looking for her wand and books. With no time to shower, she muttered a Cleaning spell, shoved her small feet into her dress shoes, threw on her robes, and bounded out the door. She noiselessly ran down the hallways then suddenly stopped short, noticing them to be empty.

She stood near the Entrance Hall and spun around as she heard a boy cursing to himself and muttering, stalking down the halls away from her. She saw a shock of tousled white-blond hair and a green and black Quidditch uniform. She held her bag close to her chest and wondered why it looked like Malfoy was heading to Quidditch practice instead of class. That, and she wondered why exactly was he swearing.

She watched him disappear around the corner in a huff and then felt a hand clasp onto her shoulder. She dropped her bag to the floor, jumping around in shock, and whipped her wand out from her robes to point it at the owner of the hand that had grabbed her.

"Whoa, lower your weapon, Weasley," Blaise Zabini said, hands held up in the air in silent protest.

Ginny lowered her shoulders slightly but kept her wand trained on the golden-eyed Slytherin, glaring up at him.

"What do you want, Zabini?" she growled, more relaxed now but highly annoyed.

"Put the wand down, Weasley. I'm not going to hurt you," he replied, his hands still in air and a charming grin spreading across his handsome face.

Ginny let out a sigh and relented, pocketing her wand. "What do you want, Zabini?" she asked again, vexed. She watched as the tall Slytherin lowered his hands and put them in his pockets.

"Well, I was just coming to check up on Malfoy, but then I saw _you_ here, standing all by yourself." He smiled and took a step closer, and she eyed him suspiciously. "What's a girl like you wandering the halls all by her lonesome, Weasley?" He smirked and then winked at her, causing her to scowl.

"What do you mean by _that_?" she asked, getting even more annoyed. "_A girl like me?_" She wrinkled her brow then shrugged. "Whatever. I am late for class, and so are you. Why are you just standing around in the hall?"

Blaise snorted and shook his head. "Did you two take idiot pills today?" he asked casually, as though Ginny knew what he was talking about.

His mirth only grew when he saw the confused expression on her face.

"You _two_? What are you going on about, Zabini?" she growled, impatiently tapping her foot on the ground.

She didn't have time to be distracted by Zabini's pranks. She picked up her bag and started to walk past him.

"Weasley!" he called out after her.

Frustrated and angry, she kept walking towards class.

"Weasley!" he called out again, laughing. "There are no classes today!" He smirked as Ginny stopped and turned around to look at him.

"Says who?" she cried incredulously.

The umber-coloured Slytherin grinned and rummaged his hands around in his pockets, turning around with his back to her. "Says the calendar, Weasley. No classes on a Saturday, whiz kid."

Ginny stared at Blaise's back. Her mouth was wide open as she watched him walk off, leaving her by herself in the halls with her schoolbooks in hand.

**xXx**

Draco returned from practice sore and exhausted. His team was annoyed at their Seeker's lateness but knew better than to have voiced their complaints aloud. They would leave their grumbling and whinging to the privacy of their own rooms, out of Draco's earshot. A younger Beater named Fleming, however, had opened his mouth in protest of the fair-haired Slytherin's tardiness, but a death glare from blond caused the boy to shut his mouth post-haste.

Draco didn't need to ask why Blaise, who wasn't even on the Quidditch team, was the one who had been sent to fetch him. As of late, Blaise was the only one that Draco tolerated in his presence. It was not as though Draco Malfoy was considered the most gregarious of Slytherins; in fact, he rarely spoke to any of his housemates outside of class. He had never placed much value in friendship, especially at Hogwarts.

When he first came to the school, he was already 'awarded' two friends: Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Both boys' fathers were associates of Lucius's. Lucius had told Draco that the oafish boys would join him at Hogwarts and 'accompany' him wherever he went. Draco had scowled at his father in secret. He did not desire bodyguards, which were what he truly believed their purpose to be. He did not like the idea that friends could be bought instead of earned. This silly notion quickly vanished once he arrived at Hogwarts and learnt first-hand what it was like to be housed in a dormitory full of girls and boys much like himself. He discovered all too quickly that his father was very wise when it came to such matters. Crabbe and Goyle proved to be useful, if not witless, willing minions.

Draco snorted to himself as he thought about his first year. He had been foolishly naïve indeed. He had even tried to befriend Potter—not because he liked the boy, of course (the boy was dreadfully slow-witted and far from cunning), but because he sought a favourable alliance that he could use to his advantage. The inherent problem that lied in such a scheme, at the time, was his lack of diplomacy, which was a result of his upbringing. As an only child, he had no real companions growing up. This was not because no boy or girl wished to be his friend (not that he knew of), but because he was secluded by both name and rank. His father did not allow him to 'play' with other children. So, he arrived at school attempting to play a political game as a child—a spoilt, arrogant child. He failed at this endeavour in his first year, but he would become better at it, and like his father presumed, Crabbe and Goyle only added to Draco's impressive attaché of intimidation.

Lost in his meditations, Draco paused at the Slytherin entrance with broom in hand. As he mumbled the password and strode inside, a familiar duo met his gaze.

_Speak of the devil, or devils_, he thought to himself with a grimace as there sat Crabbe and Goyle on one of the couches in the Slytherin common room.

Once he entered, Draco decided to ignore and walk past the duo towards his own room. He could have used his private entrance that he gained this year, but habit had forced him to walk through the common area.

Crabbe and Goyle only looked up at him with puzzled yet vacant expressions. Draco had been avoiding them since the beginning of the school year. They had attempted to question him on the subject several times but eventually gave up when their queries were met with a silent, stone-cold stare. They assumed, after Draco's bragging on their train ride to the school at the beginning of the year, that he was busy fulfilling tasks for the Dark Lord. They weren't that far off.

Draco finally made his way to his room and muttered yet another password and half kicked through the door. He then threw his broom onto the floor next to his bed and sat down on top of the duvet and put his head in his gloved hands and sighed. Seeing Crabbe and Goyle only reminded him of the tasks that he would have to perform later in the year.

He kicked off his boots and laid his head down on a pillow, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms across his chest. He lay there, silently staring at the ceiling, as his eyelids began to flutter languidly, opening and closing, slower and slower, until they finally slid shut. Sleep quickly overtook the exhausted Malfoy, and he slipped into the realm of dreams.

_"__Father, whose journal is this?" Draco looked up at his father with a large leather-bound book gripped tightly in his small hands._

He had found the diary on top of his trunk at the end of his bed. He had flipped through the pages _and found them blank. He wondered if his father had decided to give him a journal to take with him back to Hogwarts for his second year._

Lucius didn't bother to look up from his newspaper, as he brought a cup of tea to his lips. He was reading intently and didn't even seem to acknowledge his son's presence. When Draco unceremoniously cleared his throat to capture his father's attention, Lucius looked up with a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

"Pardon me, Draco. I was reading. What is it?" Lucius narrowed his eyes on his son but then saw the book clutched in Draco's hand.

Lucius folded his newspaper and placed it on his lap, urging his son to continue.

"I found this journal on my chest, Father. Do you know whose it is?" he asked once more.

Lucius smiled and held out his hand for his son to give the book to him. Draco handed it over to his father without question. Lucius leafed through the pages with a frown, which he quickly masked, then closed the book and handed it back to Draco.

"It is yours," Lucius replied simply, unfolding his newspaper to read it once more. "I thought you might like something to record your thoughts in while at school. Perhaps record some observations?" The older blond looked over top of his newspaper at his son with a knowing expression on his face.

Draco grimaced slightly and nodded his head, knowing exactly what his father had implied by 'observations'. His father had resumed his reading, and Draco took that as his cue to exit and head back to his room, with book in hand.

As Draco approached the corridor near his room, he saw a glint of something yellow at the end of the hall catch his eye. He leaned forward, book held closely to his chest, and squinted as he peered into the darkness, trying to discern what the object was that glowed so brightly. He hesitantly took a step forward as the object began to move, separating into two glowing golden orbs. Draco took a step back and straightened himself in shock.

They were eyes—golden eyes!

"Malfoy!" Blaise shouted, disturbing Draco from his dreams.

Blaise was kicking at Draco's bed in his accustomed manner, looking down at him with a hint of merriment in his eyes as a devilish smirk spread across his remarkably handsome face.

"How did you get in here?" Draco asked, half-growling, half-yawning. He was still waking up and was still very much disturbed by his dream.

"You left your door open." Blaise chortled and then threw something heavy, like a blanket, on Draco's chest.

Draco shot up, reflexes honed, and caught the blanket-like object and gave Blaise a what-the-deuce look.

"You left this outside too," Blaise said, turning around to head back out the door before something heavier than a boot was lobbed at his head. He went to close the door but popped his head back inside. "You're _welcome_!"

Draco growled as the door slammed shut behind his mate and looked down at the object that Blaise had thrown at him. It was one of his robes, and its collar was covered in dirt and blood.

**xXx**

Ginny returned to the Gryffindor Tower with a scowl plastered across her face. Other housemates had passed her in the common room as she made her own way to her bedrroom—they still in their pyjamas and she in her school uniform. They looked as though they were about to ask her why she was dressed for school but thought better of it when they saw the look on her face.

When she finally made it to her room, she flopped down on her bed and sighed. Why did she think it was a Friday? The days were all jumbled together. She couldn't sleep; she could barely eat—maybe she was going mad.

"Might not be such a bad thing," she mumbled to herself, turning over on her side.

"What might not be such a bad thing?" a voice asked, seemingly coming from nowhere.

Startled, Ginny flipped over and sat up, searching for the owner of the voice. "Hermione?" she croaked in mild fright, staring at her door where the older Gryffindor girl stood. "How did you get in here?"

"You left your door open, Ginny," Hermione answered as a matter-of-fact, a look of concern etched across her face.

"Oh," Ginny replied, forcing a smile on her lips. "Did you need something, 'Mione?"

"No, I came here to remind you about Quidditch practice. Harry has detention with Professor Snape—again—so he won't be there..." She paused. "Are you not practising for Seeker today?" she asked, the concerned expression still visible on her face.

"Oh, yeah!" Ginny shook her head then feigned yet another smile. "It totally slipped my mind," she admitted truthfully. "I'll be right down, 'Mione!"

Ginny then got up to get changed into her Quidditch uniform, leaving Hermione to escort herself out.

When Ginny and the others arrived at the Quidditch pitch, they had to wait for the Slytherin team to finish their practice first before they could begin theirs. The Gryffindors complained that the Slytherins were taking their sweet time, and the Slytherins, in return, complained that they had to start practice late, so they needed more time. Both teams looked at Malfoy to blame, who was ignoring them all, and they continued arguing for another ten minutes until Madam Hooch was forced to come down and separate them. She made the Slytherins, who complained loudly, leave the pitch, and Malfoy took off ahead of the others, looking tired, angry, and distracted.

Ginny grudgingly took to the pitch herself and began practice. Harry had been made Captain at the beginning of the school year, and Ginny had tried out for Chaser and got in. Urged on by both Hermione and the rest of the team, she had also started practising for Seeker as well as Chaser. She felt uncomfortable pitch-Seeking for Harry while he was gone with Dumbledore or in detention; however, the team itself, including Harry, had decided the year before that they needed a stand-in Seeker just in case Harry was absent, or, more-aptly put, fighting Voldemort, or worse yet—dead.

She knew that Harry would find the time to play the final game, as he somehow always managed to wrap up his fight against Voldemort and his minions in time. Although she knew that she would only be Seeker when he was absent, she felt both relieved and annoyed by this. Why should she always be second fiddle, second player to Harry? Yes, he was good, but so was she!

With these thoughts plaguing her mind, Ginny wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings. She was just keeping an eye out for the Snitch. She began to glide listlessly towards the stadium when she heard her brother call out to her, yelling at her to 'watch out'. She blinked and then pulled her broom up hard, realising that she was about to slam right into the bleachers. Hand up in the air; Ginny acknowledged to everyone that she was all right. Ron shook his head at her, and they all resumed the practice.

Embarrassed, Ginny puffed out her cheeks and then looked over her shoulder towards the forest. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied someone lurking around the school grounds near the forest—someone dark-haired and dark-skinned, who was reaching down to pick up something large and black off the ground. She tried to focus on the person, but before she could discern who it was or what he or she was doing, Ron had begun yelling at her again, telling her to pay attention to the game.

Ginny sighed and shook her head, flying up into the air, and resumed her search for the elusive golden Snitch.

**xXx**

**Author notes:** _Acromantula _is a big hairy spider. My thanks to **India Inverse** for suggesting it and helping me with this chapter. ^_^


	5. Going Mad

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One: Prelude

_Chapter Five: Going Mad_

Draco couldn't get back to sleep after Blaise had returned to him his robes earlier that morning. Instead, he sat in the silence of his room, staring at the soiled garment with keen concentration, trying to figure out what his robes were doing outside and why they were bloodied and torn. More questions than answers popped into his head, and he tried to think back to the dream that he had the previous night. The details had already begun to wane, so he focused on the bloodstains that marred the silver and green lining of his collar.

_Weasley_, Draco thought to himself and frowned. _Had she not clutched at my collar with her dirty, grubby hands?_

_She tore a fingernail off while fleeing from the Dark Lord_, he mused to himself.

Quickly, Draco sat up straight with a look of wonder on his face. How did he remember that? Wasn't his dream about picking the girl up after she ran into him?

_Why was I outside with her?_ he asked himself then paused, seemingly waiting for a reply.

_You were taking a stroll outside to help cure your insomnia_, he answered, then nodded his head as if to say 'you're right'.

Draco sighed loudly and bit his lip. Life was starting to get confusing and stressful. He was steadily alienating himself from the few friends that he had, mixing up dates and times, having dreams and thoughts about the repugnant, red-haired Weasley girl, and steadying himself to execute a mission that he wanted to do nothing more than avoid.

He put his legs out over the bed and placed his stocking feet on the cool wooden floor. He then placed a hand to his stomach, feeling it grumble and gurgle as it moaned for food. He pushed himself to get up, determined to shower before eating. He walked over to his mirror, clutching the soiled garment in his fist, and dragged it along the floor, intent on throwing the ragged thing out.

He grabbed his wand off his dresser and paused for a moment to look at his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired and gaunt. His eyes were sunken with dark circles highlighting steel-grey eyes that were darker than normal, staring lifelessly back at him.

_I take walks outside every night, don't I?_ he asked himself in the mirror.

It was less of a question and more of a need to reassure himself. His actions seemed not be of his own as of late. He was beginning to distrust these actions; he was even beginning to doubt his own thoughts.

_Yes, you do_, his mind answered simply.

Neither fazed nor nonplussed by the act of answering himself—yet again—Draco's shoulders fell slightly as he stared intently into the mirror.

_Then why was last night different?_ he asked in return. _Was last night a dream or was it...?_ Draco looked down in sudden realisation at his robes that were in one hand and his wand that was in the other. _Maybe—maybe there's a way I can find out_.

Draco decided to test out a theory and brought his wand to the collar where the section of blood was.

"_Diffindo_!" he said, using his wand to cut around the fabric until only the piece with the bloodstains on it was taken off and separated from his robes.

He took the piece of fabric, carefully folded it, and pocketed it. He then threw his now soiled and torn robes into a large copper bin in the corner of his room.

"_Incendio_!" He pointed his wand at his robes and watched as they lit up in flames and quickly turned to ash in the metal bin.

Draco faced the mirror and gazed at his reflection once more, studying himself. His eyes began to lose focus, causing his image to blur.

_Is there something else?_ his mind asked.

Draco thought on it. _Was_ he forgetting something? His mind wandered back to his family and Lord Voldemort. He sighed and brought his fingers the bridge of his nose, pinching the nerve, trying to soothe a headache that was beginning to pound in his head. He was trying desperately not to break down.

_I have to stop procrastinating!_ he reprimanded. No, he had to steel himself. He couldn't back down because others were counting on him, _lives_ were counting on his ability to successfully execute certain actions.

_Maybe you can apply for an extension?_ his mind offered.

Draco brought his hand up to his chest and almost laughed outright at the suggestion. _Yeah, the Dark Lord is bound to be even more liberal with extensions than Snape is_, he replied, smirking, then quickly blenched and shook his head, grimacing at his own joke.

A sudden and disturbing feeling of déjà vu swept over him, and he braced himself against the dresser, with his wand still gripped tightly in hand.

_I don't recall talking to myself this often_, he thought to himself, recovering from the dizzy spell. He glanced up reproachfully at his own reflection through his fine blond hair that hung limply in his eyes.

It was true. He very rarely talked to himself. Seldom did he feel the need to reply his own questions with obvious answers. This was a familiar feeling, though, almost nostalgic. It was as though his mind had…well, a mind of its own.

"I think I might be going mad," he said aloud, and in the silence of the room his own voice startled him.

Draco jumped back and brought his hands to his sides. He felt the piece of garment in his pocket gently press against his thigh, and he slide his hand inside to feel the material between his forefinger and thumb. He glanced back up at the mirror and concentrated on his own reflection, his own eyes.

_Maybe I can offer this girl as an extension?_ Draco questioned, almost as though he was waiting for his mind's approval.

_She has nothing to do with the Dark Lord's plan. Why offer her?_

_Good point_, Draco replied in thought, pondering upon the issue until his eyes suddenly lit up and an evil, cunning plan began to formulate in his mind. _The Dark Lord used her before, why not again? He chose her, didn't he?_

Draco was fairly certain that his father was involved in this decision as well, but he was also convinced that there had to be a reason for choosing the Weasley girl.

_Besides, I was planning to use her to get to Potter anyway. Why not kill two birds with one stone?_ He smirked at the brilliance of his own scheme, waiting for his mind's self-congratulation. It never came.

Frowning, Draco shrugged his shoulders and set down his wand. He then took his shirt off up over his head and headed out of his room towards the showers. After that, it was off to lunch to cure his grumbling stomach.

**xXx**

Ginny stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed, renewed, and reinvigorated. Grabbing her bathrobe off the hook, she threw it on and cinched the belt securely around her waist. She then took the towel that was wrapped around her head and began to rub her wet hair with it. As she walked towards her bedroom, she thought about the day's practice. It had been fairly uneventful. Ron swore a lot and barked orders at her, but then after practice he had put his arm around her shoulders and told her that she had done a great job—typical Ronald. At least she had caught the Snitch, even though it was at the very end of practice. Overall, it was panning out to be a good day.

Smiling to herself over her brother and his bipolar mood swings, Ginny had failed to notice that her door was wide open. She entered the room and absently closed it, throwing her towel on top of her chair as she began to disrobe. She went over to her armoire and opened it, hanging her robe on the hook inside the door. Standing naked in front of the closet mirror, she vacillated on what to wear to lunch.

Not one to dress up, mainly because she could not afford proper clothes to dress up in, Ginny picked out a long sea-blue blouse and a short, grey plaited skirt. Uniform be damned; it was the weekend, and she could wear what she liked. After putting on her bra and a pair of matching knickers, Ginny used her wand to dry her hair, dividing her long auburn mane into low pigtails. She then put on her blouse and skirt and pulled up her matching sea-blue over-the-knee-highs. She slipped on her grey and white trainers and smoothed out her top in front of the mirror, smiling. She had to admit that she looked quite cute in her skirt with matching shirt and stockings.

Once she closed the armoire door, Ginny headed over to her bedside cabinet to grab her necklace. Instead of finding her jewellery, she spotted a folded piece of parchment. She jerked her head around, looking for the culprit who had left her the note. Once finding no one blatantly standing in front of her, Ginny looked back down at the paper and hesitantly picked it up. She then darted her eyes around the room with an almost guilty expression hanging on her face as she held the note close to her chest. Unfolding the letter slowly, Ginny read the two sentences that were written in calligraphy-style on the parchment:

'_Do not trust Malfoy. You are being watched.' _

Ginny's face noticeably paled. She quickly folded the parchment and set it back down on the stand. Slowly sitting down on the bed, she glanced down at the note then looked at the door.

"Ginny!" Hermione called to her from outside the door, causing the redhead to jump.

Her heart felt like it had literally leapt into her throat. "Yes?" Ginny croaked in return, trying to steady her nerves.

"We're leaving for lunch. Are you coming?" the brainy brunette asked, patiently waiting for the younger Gryffindor's response.

Disturbed, Ginny cleared her throat and tried to sound natural. "I'll be down in a few minutes, 'Mione. I'm just getting dressed."

She listened as Hermione's shoes scuffled on the floor, walking off to go join Harry and Ron for lunch. Ginny had suddenly lost her appetite. She frowned at the note and picked it up to read it once more.

"Do not trust Malfoy?" she questioned aloud, without a hint of scepticism, and almost laughed. "Well that's obvious." She dropped the letter onto her lap and sighed, looking down at the words. "You are being watched."

_By whom?_ she wondered.

Ginny tried to figure out whose handwriting it was. It was very neat, almost artistic in design. It looked like a girl's handwriting, but she couldn't be sure. Just as she began to focus on the loops and lines, the paper leapt out of her hands and began to fold in on itself many times over until it exploded into ash.

—Poof—

"Lovely," Ginny mumbled to herself, brushing off the ashes as she stood up.

On top of all these crazy dreams she had been having as of late, Ginny now had to worry about a stalker _and_ Draco Malfoy. She wondered which one she had to fear the most.

**xXx**

Draco quickly finished his shower and arrived to lunch early, beating both Blaise and Pansy to their seats. Once he settled in at the table, he dived in, stacking his plate with food that he already had half-finished by the time the others arrived.

Pansy sat down next to him, looking down at his plate as he began to scoop more food onto it. "You certainly seem to have quite the appetite today," she said, with an expression on her face that hinted she was about to give him a lecture.

"Yup," Draco replied curtly between bites.

After five years of housing with Pansy Parkinson, he had come to the realisation that no manner of ignoring the witch worked. He could tell her to sod off, he could act civilised, or he could ignore her completely; however, neither of these tactics worked. If he told her to sod off, she would take it as a form of attention; if he were civilised towards her, she would take it as a sign of affection; if he ignored her completely, she would see to it as her utmost mission to demand his attention.

"You know, you have been working yourself too hard these days, Draco," Pansy cooed, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Draco nodded and continued eating, ignoring, for now, her hand on his body part. Unfortunately, Pansy only seemed encouraged by this.

"You should come visit me later today, Drakey," she purred in his ear, then lowered her hand onto his knee. "I could make you feel better."

Draco almost choked on his food. "Would you bloody well stop that?" he yelled, standing up, spitting food all over her hair.

Pansy screamed in horror as chunks of broccoli hit her in the face. The rest of the students looked over, seeing Malfoy tower over Parkinson, spewing food into her hair and bellowing at her like she had just sexually assaulted him. Draco didn't care. He was ignoring them all. He was sick of Pansy's little mind and touch games to get him into bed. All she wanted was his fortune. She didn't care one whit about him. He was tired of her ploys, and he didn't care how low or uncouth he sounded at the moment.

"I want nothing to do with you, you pug-faced bint! Now leave me the _fuck_ alone!" he swore loudly, something very uncharacteristic of him, and watched her cower in her seat.

He then looked around the room, daring _anyone_ to say anything to him. Everyone, however, looked far too shocked to say a word. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table and saw the Weasley girl sitting beside the Mudblood Granger. Her mouth was wide-open in the form of a grin. She was laughing!

**.oOo.**

Draco shook his head and blinked several times, trying to regain focus. He looked over to his left and saw Pansy chattering away, smiling and batting her eyelashes at him as if nothing had happened just three seconds earlier.

_Did that really just happen?_ he asked himself.

"You know, you have been working yourself too hard these days, Draco," Pansy cooed, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"What the hell?" Draco cursed, standing up and backing away from Pansy, who was looking up at him like he had sprouted a second head.

He had no idea what was going on, but the feeling of déjà vu this time was so palpable that it was menacing. He was finding it difficult to breathe. He awkwardly tried to retreat backwards, not caring who noticed him fumbling about, when he backed into something solid.

"Whoa, mate, where are you going?" a voice half-laughed behind him.

Draco spun around to find Blaise, who was getting ready to sit down.

"I..." Draco paused and looked around the room. He briefly looked over at the Gryffindor table and saw the Weasley girl sit down beside Granger. "I am done eating," he replied. "I am going to my room." Draco excused himself from the table and began walking as quickly and as nonchalantly as he could out of the Great Hall.

Blaise watched his friend leave with a concerned expression on his face, then cast his gaze to where Draco had been looking earlier, before he stormed out. He watched the Weasley girl with mild interest, cocking an eyebrow in the air. He looked back to the Great Hall entrance to see Draco push through the large doors, and he quietly shook his head and sat down.

"What's wrong with _him_?" Pansy asked Blaise, seeming genuinely shocked at Draco's behaviour.

"I don't know," he replied, not taking his eyes off the food that he had begun to stack on his plate. "Sick, perhaps?"

"Yes, sick," Pansy agreed.

Blaise's offered explanation seemed to placate her for the time being, so she continued eating then turned her attention to the person sitting next to her. She began freely chatting and flirting with the younger boy, forgetting Draco entirely. Blaise, on the other hand, could not forget his mate's behaviour so easily. Instead of chatting with the others, he ate his lunch in silent contemplation, occasionally glancing over at the small redhead sitting at the Gryffindor table.

**xXx**

Ginny had finally worked up the courage to leave her room and go down to the Great Hall to join the others for lunch. As she approached the table to sit down beside Hermione, she heard a great racket near the Slytherin table and glanced up in time to watch Malfoy back into Zabini, both looking perplexed. She sat down slowly, watching the blond manoeuvre himself around the dark-haired boy and stride out of the Great Hall.

"Now that was odd," Ron commented, watching Malfoy leave, his fork dangling precariously close to his face. "I wonder what he's up to?"

Ron gently elbowed Harry in the ribs with his other arm, waiting for confirmation of his suspicions. He brought the fork up to his mouth and chewed on his food slowly, as if in deep contemplation.

"Could be a number of things—none of them good," Harry answered, looking up from his plate to follow Ron's gaze.

"Yes, well I don't think we should let Malfoy ruin our lunch, do you?" Hermione suggested, bringing a napkin to her lips to wipe off crumbs. She looked at the two boys, who simply shrugged their shoulders and went back to eating.

Ginny nodded her head in agreement, but then averted her gaze to the Hall entrance and frowned. It seemed uncharacteristic of Malfoy to just suddenly leave the table like that, not that she knew what was characteristic of him; however, it did seem out-of-keeping with his typical mannerisms. He was a bigot; he was arrogant; he was cruel, but he was civilised and proper, in a pompous and irritating sort of way. He might consider Muggles, Mudbloods, and blood traitors beneath him, but he was careful not to be completely rude or uncouth to pure-bloods, save _her_ family, of course.

_Perhaps he is up to something_, Ginny thought to herself.

On her first day back to school, she had overheard Harry, Ron, and Hermione talking about an encounter they'd had with Malfoy while buying robes at Madam Malkin's. Apparently, he had been making a fuss about his right arm, and the Trio suspected that he had received the Dark Mark. They then followed him to Borgin and Burkes where they overheard parts of a conversation in which Malfoy spoke to the owner, conversing about keeping something safe then asking how to repair something. It was all very vague with no real facts to back it up. Only Harry and Ron seemed wholeheartedly convinced. Hermione was hesitant to accept it as gospel right away: she needed facts.

"So, how did our little Seeker do today?" Hermione asked cheerfully, changing the subject, waking Ginny from her musings.

Ginny opened her mouth to reply but before she could, Harry, who hadn't even bothered to look up from his plate, cut her off.

"I was in detention today, Hermione. You know that!" Harry then shovelled another lump of potatoes into his mouth and rolled his eyes at the brunette's supposed forgetfulness.

"Not you, you ding bat! _Ginny_!" Hermione now rolled her eyes at Harry and bunched up her napkin and tossed it at his head.

"Oh," he said sheepishly, grabbing the crumpled napkin. He blushed and looked over at Ginny. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I forgot. How was practice?"

Ginny had initially been annoyed that Harry had forgot that she had been practising for Seeker. She wondered if he even knew that she was on the Quidditch team at all or even at this table right now. However, his sheepish grin and hangdog expression reeled her back in, and she was able to forgive him for his ego.

"Ah, it was okay, you know." Ginny shrugged her shoulders and poked around at her salad with her fork.

"She was brill, Harry. I never knew she could move around so fast on a broom!" Ron smiled at his sister, and Ginny smiled back. "She was a little distracted though. She almost flew into the bleachers!" He snorted, shaking his head.

Harry laughed at this then realised he had laughed at Ginny's expense and looked up apologetically at both witches.

Ginny rolled her eyes and looked down at her plate. There was typical Ron for you: compliment then insult.

"You really should quit while you're ahead, Ronald," Ginny said behind gritted teeth, with a glint in her eyes. She stabbed her fork into her salad and shoved the leafy greens into her mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately.

"What did I say?" Ron first looked at Hermione, who was glaring at him, then glanced over at Harry. "I don't get girls," he said at last, hanging his head in defeat. He decided to keep his mouth shut and work on his meal instead.

"So, how was detention, Harry?" Ginny asked, trying to change the subject, still forking her salad into her mouth.

"Detention with Snape is…detention with Snape," Harry answered, shrugging his shoulders, then furrowed his brow and sneered. "I still can't believe he's the new DADA professor. I still walk into Potions expecting to see him there instead of Slughorn."

"Yeah, me too," Ginny agreed, nodding her head. She would always consider it Snape's Potions class. "How is Advanced Potions with Slughorn coming along then?"

She knew Harry had only got into Advanced because of Slughorn. There was no way his O.W.L.s would have been accepted under Snape as Potions professor. Slughorn took Harry's E because of his celebrity status. Slughorn only wanted to surround himself with the popular; however, he did appreciate true talent when he saw it, like one Ginevra Weasley.

"Actually, it's going quite well," Harry replied, a huge grin on his face. As he said this, he patted a textbook that sat beside his plate.

Ginny's grin faltered. She could admit that Harry was a better Seeker than she was, but better at Potions?

"Only because he has acquired someone else's textbook with all the answers in it!" Hermione whined petulantly, pointing at the book. The older Gryffindor girl did not like being upstaged, especially when such a feat was accomplished by cheating.

"Oh, 'Mione, leave him be," Ron chimed in, defending Harry like he always did. "The textbook was in Slughorn's room. It's not like it is his answer key or something. It was some student's textbook from a long time ago. It's not Harry's fault if Slughorn doesn't check the books."

Ron and Harry nodded their heads at this while both Ginny and Hermione simultaneously rolled their eyes. Ginny was about to open her mouth and make a snide remark when a nauseating feeling washed over her, causing her stomach to churn and her head to throb.

"You okay, Ginny?" Ron asked, concerned for his sister.

Ginny reached for her forehead, her fingers trembling slightly. She nodded her head wearily. "Yeah, just a headache." She bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to stay focused. Her eyesight was starting to blur. "I think I'm just going to head back to my room and lie down."

All three looked at her, concerned, and nodded their heads as they watched her go. The moment Ginny left the Great Hall, however, she felt the pressure in her head subside. Slightly shaken, she began to make her way towards the towers. On her way there, she saw Draco Malfoy come around the corner heading towards the Entrance Hall. He seemed to materialise from out of nowhere.

_Where did he just come from?_ Ginny asked herself, walking opposite of him, watching him as he strolled in her direction with his head down.

Draco looked down at his feet as he walked. After he left the Great Hall, he was determined to head back to his room. However, as he made his way towards the dormitories, he recalled what he had been stressing about for the early part of the morning. So, instead of going to his room, he turned on his heel and headed up to the seventh floor, looking for the Room of Requirement. He decided that he should at least attempt to fulfil parts of his obligation. Once he arrived at the proper floor, he could not focus his attention on finding the room. After a few brief attempts, then a swift and crushing pain to his head, he thought it best to head back to the common room lest Blaise and Pansy wonder where he was.

Deep in thought, he adjusted his hands so that they were now in his pockets, and he began his usual saunter. Once he finally brought his head up to look ahead, he stopped suddenly in his tracks. The Weasley girl was just a few metres in front of him, watching him. He scowled and began to walk forward again, in her direction, determined to not let her presence affect him.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's impolite to stare, Weaselette?" he asked with a drawl, as he steadily approached her.

She was glaring at him, watching him like a hawk. "Hasn't anyone ever taught _you_ that it's impolite to call someone names, _Ferret_?"

"Actually, yes," he replied, and Ginny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "But then," he followed, "I was only taught to be polite to my equal or superior." He looked down at her, appraising her nubile form in her short skirt and tight top. "Since you fit neither bill..." He paused, with a smirk on his face, letting his eyes linger over her body. He knew that he should not have been turned on by the Weasley girl, but he couldn't seem to control his more animalistic impulses.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy!" she snapped. "You are so low on the social manners scale that Peeves precedes you!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. She had just told him to shut up and then insulted him. "Whatever, _Weaselette_." He glared back at her with disdain, losing any attraction that he had for her moments ago. "I don't have time to waste on a blood traitor."

Without waiting for a reply, he brushed past her and headed towards the Entrance Hall.

"Arrogant git!" she yelled at his back.

Draco clenched his fists in anger and decided to ignore her. He wasn't going to be taken in so easily. He truly did have better things to do than verbally spar with the little Weasel. Besides, whenever they seemed to fight as of late, it turned into a snog-fest—at least in his dreams, and he wasn't too sure if this interaction was real or imagined (he hoped imagined). Regardless, he did not feel like testing that theory out.

"Yeah, that's right, _coward_. Walk away!" she called out after him, taunting him.

Draco stopped and stood perfectly still with his back to her. "Coward?" he asked incredulously, spinning around to look into her brown eyes with his murderously glinting grey ones.

He then began to take long, quick strides back to her. She looked slightly intimidated but stood her ground. She was either very brave or very stupid. She was a Gryffindor, after all, and so he assumed she was most likely a combination of both, with heavy emphasis on the latter.

"I'm a coward, am I, Weasley?" he asked, so quietly and evenly that she had to strain her ears to hear him. His voice was eerily calm and controlled.

He was looking down at her now, only inches from her. He had covered the distance between them in such a short period of time that she was surely shocked to find him so close so suddenly. He looked unruffled, almost placid as he asked her the question. The only movements that betrayed his actual seething anger were the deliberate rise and fall of his chest and the blue vein that throbbed on his right temple.

"Yes, you are," she replied with surprising confidence. "You're a coward, and I think you have been afraid your whole useless life!"

Draco moved in so quickly that she wasn't sure what had happened until she felt the air cut off to her lungs. His fingers were wrapped tightly around her throat, and his nails were dug deeply into her neck.

He was choking her.

She struggled in his tenacious grip, trying to speak. She kicked at him, but his fingers only bore in deeper as he roughly shoved her against the wall. Her hands reached up towards his face, trying to claw at it, but he was too tall for her. She tore at his arms instead. Then, coming to the realisation that he was too strong for her, she gave up and began to tap at his arm vigorously, trying hard not to struggle against him as it only made his grip tighter and the pain all the more unbearable.

Draco noticed her slack and loosened his hold on her throat, allowing her to breathe; however, he still kept his fingers tightly encircled around her neck.

"Listen carefully, Weasley," he hissed, as he brought his lips down to her ear, "because I am only going to say this once."

She trembled slightly in his grip.

"There's a fine line between a hero and a coward," he began evenly. "A coward does what he has to do to survive—he picks his battles; he lives to fight another day. A hero, on the other hand, gets people killed, gets his loved ones killed, gets himself killed. It's a lose-lose scenario for the hero." He offered her a smirk. "Now, if I had to choose between the two, then, yeah, I'd go for coward." He shook his head. "You see, Weasley, I'm not going to put the ones I love in danger. I'm not going to sacrifice them and watch them die all for some ill-conceived notion of nobility. I'm going to do what it takes to save them and myself. I'm going to live to fight another day."

He finished speaking then stood back, rising to full height as he looked down at her. At once, he let go of her throat as he felt her start to go limp. She reached for her throat with both hands and gasped for air, staring up at him, wide-eyed. He looked down at his own hand then at the red finger marks, including the indentations of his nails, which were forming on her neck.

He scowled. He had not meant to wound her like that. It was not that he was opposed to hurting her; he just preferred to wound her emotionally and psychologically rather than physically. He abhorred using violence against women. He was a firm believer in the policy that a wizard should never bring his hand to a witch.

"I…" Draco paused, trying to figure out how to apologise. He had never done it before, except to his father, and those apologies were forced. "Never mind," he muttered stepping back, away from her. He saw the hate in her eyes and figured it was too late anyway. It didn't matter what he said.

Both of them stared at each other in icy silence, unsure of what to say to the other. He wondered why she didn't hit him or scream at him. She just stood there, staring at him, rubbing her neck. Shouldn't she have been screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs and railing on his face with her little fists? She was a Weasley and a redhead after all.

Ginny was about to open her mouth to speak when she was interrupted by another sharp pain to her temples. She clutched her head tightly, softly cursing to herself. She brought her head up to look at Draco and saw that his eyes were also closed. He was holding the bridge of his nose with his middle finger and thumb. He opened his eyes and looked down at her as he did this, observing her clutching at her own head in pain. They both dropped their hands to their sides and stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak first.

"We need to talk," Ginny said finally, giving in first.

"About what, Weasley?" he asked, his fingers itching to return to his head to soothe it.

"I dunno. The consistency of knarl droppings, maybe?" she suggested facetiously, then growled. "You bloody well know what, Malfoy!"

Draco rolled his eyes and decided that he did, in fact, need to knead his sore head. The girl's shrill voice and growling did not help it one bit.

"Fine, Weaselette, let's go somewhere discreet then."

Ginny shook her head, remembering the note telling her not to trust Malfoy. Of course, this note came from someone who broke into her room and was obviously stalking her. She was sure she had to be more suspicious and worried about this other person than Malfoy. However, she still did not trust the arrogant git: he _was_ her enemy.

"We will go to the library," she suggested, and Draco made a face. Ginny waved her hand, dismissing his look of doubt. "It's a Saturday. How many people are going to be there on a Saturday afternoon?"

Draco seemed satisfied with this explanation and inclined his head slightly. "Well, lead the way then, Weaselette. And do hurry up before everyone comes out from lunch," he added, making a motion as though he was going to shove her forward.

Ginny glared at him and put her hand on her hip. "Stop calling me Weaselette, _Ferret_!" She narrowed her eyes, and Draco stiffened at the nickname.

He got the hint.

"Fine, _Freckles_," he said with drawl, urging her forward with a gesture of his hands.

Ginny shook her head and sighed. They both turned around, and she led them towards the library.

Freckles _was_ better than Weaselette. She had to be content with the fact that that was the best she was going to get from a Malfoy.

**xXx**

**Author notes:** Special thanks to **India Inverse** for beta-ing this chapter. =)

_Diffindo_ - 'to sever or cleave'

_Incendio_ - 'to set fire to'


	6. The Wager

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One: Prelude

_Chapter Six: The Wager_

Draco and Ginny made their way to the library only to discover that on a Saturday afternoon it was not as dead as Ginny had supposed. There, on one of the lounges near the forbidden section, sat Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Draco let out a soft growl and rolled his eyes. He looked down at Ginny, who had turned her head back to glare up at him with narrowed almond-shaped eyes.

"I had no idea they'd be here!" she hissed through gritted teeth, absently placing a small hand on Draco's arm as she tried to steer him in the opposite direction of the Trio.

Indignant at being manoeuvred by the littlest Weasley, Draco shrugged her hand off his arm, which seemed to burn through the fabric of his robes at her touch. He briskly walked past her, bringing up his hood, hoping that no one would notice him with the Gryffindor.

"Oh, yes, Weasley," he drawled facetiously, making his way to a table partially hidden behind a shelf of books in the far corner of the library, "this would be the last place on Earth to _ever_ find Granger!"

Both sat down somewhat rigidly and examined each other as they glanced furtively about the room, afraid that someone might recognise them.

"What do you care if they're here anyway, Malfoy?" she asked, leaning forward, keeping her voice low. "Afraid they'll see you?"

Draco leaned back in his chair and glared rather distastefully at the girl. "I don't care about _them_ seeing us," he explained, as he straightened out his robes and wiped at the invisible dirt.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"That is so," he replied arrogantly. "I only care about my reputation, Weasley. And being seen with you isn't exactly going to help it any." He then peered over her shoulder, looking about the library for possible Slytherins lurking nearby.

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Ginny breathed, thinking about bringing up her own hood, "your reputation as a useless tosspot remains sterling."

Draco snorted then leaned forward, his pewter-coloured eyes peering out from beneath his hood to penetrate her own gaze. "I thought we were here to discuss our predicament, Ginevra," he said smoothly, pronouncing her name almost respectfully.

Ginny was taken aback. No one called her by her first name, not even her family. It was always Ginny or Gin. She still did not know how Malfoy knew her name when Harry did not.

"W-We are," she stuttered, still confused by the Slytherin's sudden change in temperament.

"So..." Draco began, lowering his hood back a bit to look at the Weasley girl a little better.

"So..." Ginny replied, fidgeting with her fingers under his intense gaze.

Both stared at each other in awkward silence, and Ginny curled a lock of hair behind her ear. She licked at her lower lip and gently bit down on it. She did not know why, but Malfoy made her nervous. She was not afraid of him; he just made her self-conscious. He made her feel like how she used to feel around Harry: nervous, shy, and doubtful. She did not know how to act around Harry—he was her hero, her idol, her crush. Malfoy was none of these things, but he was confident. He had an air of authority and power. This was not to say that Ginny was intimidated or lacked confidence. She knew that she was pretty enough, smart enough, and popular enough. Malfoy, however, made her feel like she was nothing; that she could never amount to anything. He was rich, handsome, intelligent, and powerful. Okay, so maybe she was a little intimidated.

Draco, in turn, watched as the Weasley girl tried to formulate a sentence. He was aware that he intimidated people. He had half-suspected that the girl might be fearful or frightened of him, but he was uncertain. She was confident and unflinching, or at least she appeared to be. He was certain that he could not easily cow her, not yet at least. She did, however, seem hesitant to talk.

He watched her bite her lip and inwardly groaned. Many girls used certain feminine charms to persuade him: the batting of eyelashes, the licking of lips, and the making of certain body gestures. He was quite certain that the Weasley girl, however, was not attempting any of these ploys. Nonetheless, her body language was making an impression upon him.

"Well?" he asked, leaning forward, placing his well-manicured hands on the table and then lacing his fingers together.

Ginny untangled her fingers from her hair and sighed, bringing her hands to her sides. "I have been having these…dreams lately," she stated hesitantly, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Draco masked his initial shock and feigned a look of indifference. "So, you have been having dreams then, _and_…?" he asked in an annoyed fashion, hoping to divert her attention from his genuine curiosity.

Distracted by her own thoughts, Ginny did not detect the interest in his voice. "I don't know if the headaches trigger it," she admitted, as if talking to herself. "The headaches are new, but the dreams are not. I have been having them for quite some time now since the Cham—" She stopped herself short and looked up at him.

Draco had leaned in even closer without her realising it, his nose almost touching hers. "The Chamber? You mean since the Dark Lord possessed you?"

Not many knew about the Chamber of Secrets and Ginny Weasley's possession by the Dark Lord, but as son to one of Voldemort's high-ranking Death Eaters, Draco was privy to certain sensitive information. That, and it was his father who gave her the blasted journal.

Ginny winced at the mention of Voldemort and drew back, uncomfortable with her and Malfoy's closeness. "It wasn't like that," she tried to explain. "Tom didn't possess me, really..." She hopelessly trailed off and looked up only to see a confused expression plastered across his ivory-sculptured face.

"Tom? Who's Tom?" he asked, both annoyed and confused. He had no idea why he felt annoyed.

"No one," she replied, skipping his question with a wave of her hand. "My dreams now have nothing to do with the Chamber. They are—"

"And what do these dreams have to do with _me_, Weasley?" Draco asked, cutting her off in a bored fashion, as he leaned back in his chair and studied her facial expressions.

Ginny baulked at his indifference, opening her mouth and closing it like a fish. "Well they are about you a-and…" She paused, at a loss for words, and her cheeks flushed red.

"_Me_?" Draco smirked. "Why, Miss Weasley, are you having perverted dreams about me?" He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. Was the little redhead having naughty thoughts about him?

"No!" Ginny slammed her fists down on the table, causing a few people in the library to look up to try to identify the noise. She then drew her hood up and lowered her voice. "No," she repeated, quietly.

Draco's smirk turned into a wolfish grin, as he leaned in even closer; his nose, once again, precariously close to hers. "No need to be so defensive about it, Weasley. There are plenty of girls who get their knickers in a twist at night over thoughts of me," he said, displaying his pearly whites. "And there are plenty who fancy getting out of their knickers for me too."

Ginny sprang up in her seat and pulled her hood back in disgust. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy!" She looked around furtively then sat back down. "Listen, we came here to discuss something that _both_ of us have felt."

Draco leaned back. He crossed his arms across his chest and scowled at her. An undeniably sour expression of disgust hung on his face as he studied the redhead.

"_Both_ of us? _Felt_?" he asked incredulously. "Now who's the one flattering herself?" He glared at her with disdain and snarled, "I feel _nothing_ for you, blood traitor! Nothing other than _disgust_!"

He had no idea what this girl was going on about. How dare she assume that _he_ had feelings for _her_?

Ginny cocked her head to the side to look up at Malfoy, furrowing her brow in confusion and anger. "_Thank you_ for clarifying your feelings towards me, Malfoy, but _that_ was not what I was talking about." He opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off. "I am talking about us having headaches at the same time, dreams that involve one another. Strange things like that."

Ginny shook her head and looked down at her fingernails. Her right index nail was torn off. If last night was all a dream, then why were her nails destroyed? Had the dream somehow physically manifested itself? If the pain was real, was Malfoy's presence in her dream also real?

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his scowl having never left his face. "I'm not _saying_ that I have dreams about you," he finally spoke, "but why would you assume that?"

"Because of this," she said, holding up her finger with the torn nail.

Draco looked at her finger quizzically, not understanding the connection.

"I got this while digging my way out of a tunnel through Potions class," she explained, as Draco's right eye twitched in remembrance. "I spent the entire morning scraping dirt and blood out from underneath my fingernails. Dirt and blood that I somehow acquired from a _dream_!"

"A dream?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah." She laughed pathetically. "A dream that you were in, where you gave me these!" she hissed, turning over her wrists. They were marked with small bruises and nail indentations—the ones he had given her the night before in _his_ dream.

Draco brought his hand up to his cheek, feeling the imaginary sting of the blow that she had delivered him the night before. "You slapped me," he said, then added with an irritated tone, "twice!"

Ginny's eyes lit up, and she leaned forward. "You dreamt it with me!" She reached out towards him.

Draco drew his hands back in haste. He did not want her touching him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Weasley," he said none-too-convincingly.

"Voldemort," she whispered, leaning in as close as possible. "You saw him, didn't you?"

Draco closed his eyes, trying to remember. He did not recall seeing the Dark Lord, but he did recollect her chattering on about him chasing after her.

"No," he replied.

Ginny's heart sank deep into the pit of her stomach. Maybe she _was_ insane.

"No," he repeated, "but I remember flying up into the air…backwards."

He stopped and looked down at the Weasley girl, who was now looking up at him earnestly, with shining eyes, wanting nothing more than a confirmation of her sanity. He wanted to tell her that no such thing happened, that she was, point of fact, mental. He wanted to torture her and deny everything. However, she was confirming _his_ worst fears: his dreams were somehow partially real. He did not know if they shared the same dreams, including the most intimate ones, nor had any clue how this was all even possible, unless it was some kind of old magic. In any case, he was stumped. He didn't have any answers, so if he wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery, he would have to play along, for now.

"So," he began hesitantly, clearing his throat, "we are somehow sharing dreams?"

Ginny nodded her head emphatically. "I think so."

"Why?" Draco asked, his voice dropping several octaves.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "All I want to know if they are…real."

He hoped like hell they weren't real, but how were they to know?

Draco bolted up in his chair as if being startled from a deep sleep and reached into his trouser pocket. Ginny jumped back a little in response, startled at his sudden actions. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong when he brought his hand out of his pocket and slid it all the way across the table towards her own hands.

Ginny looked down in trepidation. Was he reaching for her hand? Did he want to…hold it?

Draco beckoned her to lean in close, and he lifted his hand to reveal a piece of cloth. "Maybe this can help answer your question," he whispered, pushing the swatch towards her.

Ginny screwed her mouth into a twisted grin and furrowed her brow in scepticism. "How?"

"How good are you at testing blood?" he asked, and Ginny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What I mean is, can you test this fabric for blood and find out whom it belongs to—witch or wizard—by name?"

Ginny stared at him long and hard then looked down at the piece of cloth. "There is no revealing spell to determine as such, but there is a potion that is used to ascertain the biological nature of a child—to reveal his or her birth parents. It is a very complex potion that requires several stages of testing and a lengthy gestation period."

"Can it name the person, whose blood it belongs to?" he asked almost earnestly.

She shook her head. "No, it will not name whose blood it is, only the names of the parents. It is specifically made for paternity issues," she explained. "There may be a spell or a potion to determine the owner or origin of blood, but that would be something that only an Auror would know. I am afraid they do not teach that here."

Draco nodded his head and tapped his finger on the cloth. "That will do then. Do _that_ test."

"Oh, well, then I'll get right on it, m'lord," Ginny remarked facetiously, rolling her eyes. "How is testing blood on this swatch going to help us figure any of this out?"

"Do you have to question everything, Weasley?" he asked, infuriated, crossing his arms over his chest in a huffy manner.

"No, just everything _you_ say and do, Malfoy," she replied, an evil smirk on her face as she crossed her arms in the same fashion as he.

"Stop acting like a child and just do the damn test! It will tell you if your dreams are real or not."

"No," Ginny replied tersely, then stuck her tongue out at him in a petulant manner.

Unbeknownst to the two bickering students, who were in their own little world of childish antics, they had begun to garner the attention of those around them, including a particularly short-fused redhead.

"GINNY!" a loud voice boomed across the library, accompanied by several loud shushes.

Ginny whipped her head to the left, almost giving herself whiplash, to see a fellow freckled redhead clambering over the top of the lounge, heading in her direction. He was using both Hermione and Harry as props. She quickly turned her head back and hid the left side of her face with her hand, sheepishly looking up at Malfoy.

"Oh Merlin, he sees us!"

Amused, Draco looked over at the fuming red-haired boy with slight indifference. Both Granger and Potter were trying to push Weasley back down onto the sofa and hold him down.

"If you do not want to do this test, then perhaps I can suggest a venture, Weasley—a joint venture."

"A joint venture?" she asked sceptically.

"Yes, it means a project or an undertaking," he explained in a condescending tone. "_Together_."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "I know what 'joint venture' bloody well means, you prat!"

Draco smirked.

"Why would I help _you_ with anything?" she asked, then looked over at the Trio to see Hermione holding Ron's arm, talking to him and pointing at him. It was like watching someone discipline a dog.

"You will _assist_ with this venture when you lose the bet with me," Draco explained, a smug grin forming on his face.

"What bet?" Ginny asked incredulously.

Harry was now standing above Ron, glancing over at both her and Malfoy. Draco watched as the redhead turned to stare at Potter, and he observed how their eyes met. Draco's eyes, in turn, narrowed into mercury slits. He did not know why, but this eye contact between the two of them annoyed him immensely. He leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of the Weasley girl's face in a rude manner, interrupting her connection with Potter.

"Eyes forward, Weasley. I am talking to you!" he demanded in a schoolmarm tone. "You can drool over Potter after we are done conversing." His upper lips curled into a snarl. "Don't worry, Ginevra. I'm sure being seen with me will get you loads of attention from The Boy Who Got Lucky."

Ginny scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, something she could not seem to put a stop too whilst in the presence of Malfoy. She had no idea why her attention towards Harry or vice versa angered the Slytherin so.

"Honestly, Malfoy. I could care less about Harry's attention," she said with a sigh, then rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger—a habit she had acquired from the blond-haired boy.

"Right, Weasley. Right," he replied, nodding his head. "You're no longer infatuated with Potter, and I have suddenly developed an affinity for Mudbloods." He adjusted his tie and sneered at her.

Ginny looked up at the pale blond, who was now preening himself, and scowled. Any time the boy appeared remotely decent and human, he would show his true colours, his true Malfoy and Slytherin colours.

"Well, then I guess I better set you up for a date with Hermione Granger, Malfoy, because I am _over_ Harry. I have been for a long time."

Draco made a face at her mentioning the Mudblood's name in association with his own. "There's no need to be vile, Weasley."

"Oh, and your comments weren't?" she retorted.

Draco's upper lip curved into a seductively charming grin. "What exactly was vile, Weasley—my comment on Mudbloods or my comment on Potter?"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" she demanded, then huffed, leaning back in her chair as she examined the tall, slender Slytherin.

As much as she despised Malfoy, she could not help but notice how incredibly attractive he looked when he smiled, even when it was a smirk. However, his attitude and prejudices made him appear much uglier than he truly was. It was almost a pity.

"I do not care about Harry any more!" she all but shouted. "So, how about you get over your own competition-slash-jealousy issues that you have with him, and let's just move on, shall we?"

"Oh, let's test that theory out now, Freckles," he said sarcastically, as he pointed towards the Trio.

Ginny looked over again to see Harry making his way towards their table.

"Here comes Pot-head to save the daaaaay!" Draco sang.

Ginny had to cover her mouth with her hand to suppress a laugh at Malfoy's joke. She quickly recovered and sighed, resting her chin on her hand as she attempted to look away from Harry and all the prying eyes in the library. Draco, on the other hand, brought both his feet up on the table and crossed his ankles, watching Potter as he made his way through the tables and shelves. Draco was attempting to look relaxed, amused, and slightly vexed; he was pulling the latter off quite admirably. As Potter approached, however, the outward appearance of annoyance on Draco's face had failed to reflect his inward seething anger. Of course, everyone in school knew that Draco hated Harry, but the feeling that he was experiencing at this moment was something different than hatred, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"We established the wager, now here comes the bet," Draco said quietly, bringing his feet down, still following Potter with his eyes.

"What?" Ginny asked, confused.

"You do realise, my dear Ginevra, that Sir Potter will not give one whit about you and the supposed danger that you are in, in my presence," he said as a matter-of-fact. "Nor will he show the slightest pang of jealousy or feel the slightest twinge of protectionism towards you." He turned to look at Ginny, offering her an almost pleasant, almost genuine smile. "All of his attention will be on me."

Ginny rolled her eyes. _So, this is what he meant by 'bet'._

"Well, _Draconius_," Ginny said, forcing a smile, "I wager otherwise. Harry's only concern right now is for me."

"Oh, what chivalry," Draco remarked, taking his time to verbally spar with the little Weasley since Potter seemed to be approaching them at a snail's pace. It was either that, or he was suffering the effects of a slow motion spell. "I don't think he is capable of such loyal ties towards a woman."

Ginny glanced sidelong at Draco. _Loyal ties towards a woman?_

"Romantic ties, Weasley," Draco explained, as if reading her mind.

Ginny kept her brown eyes fixed on his grey ones. What did he mean by romantic, _loyal_ ties? Harry was, if anything, loyal. He was a Gryffindor, after all. A Slytherin, on the other hand, was anything _but_ loyal. What did a Slytherin and a Malfoy know about loyalty or romantic ties? From what she heard, the boy went through girls like tissue paper.

"Don't stress on the concept too much, Weasley," Draco said with an amused drawl, then leaned in close so that his face was only inches away from hers.

Now _this_ finally quickened Harry's pace.

"Since you 'wager' he is on his way over here to defend your honour and inquire into your status, I wager that the first person he will address will be me. The only person he will have his attention on is _me_." Draco's lips curved into a malicious grin as he pressed his lips to her ear. "He will think that I am using you to get to him," he whispered, sending shivers down her spine. "Maybe that is true, but..." Draco drew back and looked down at her and smirked as he watched her eyes flutter open. "But if I am right, and he is only interested in me, you must do me a favour."

Ginny drew back and looked up at Harry, who had finally approached the table. His chest was rising and falling in obvious anger. She looked down at Draco's hand as he slid the small piece of fabric towards her.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed.

Draco sat upright in his chair and smiled down at the redhead. Ginny frowned and looked up at Harry, seeing his eyes only fixated upon Malfoy.

"What are you doing here with Ron's sister?" Harry spat, flexing his hand, knowing that his wand was in close reach.

Ginny sighed and looked contemptuously at Malfoy, who was cheekily smirking at her in his usual domineering and arrogant way. She knew that she had already lost the bet, so she immediately slid a delicate finger between his. Startled by her touch, Draco watched as she slid the fabric out from underneath his hands, across the table, then picked it up and placed it in her pocket.

Harry had watched the seemingly intimate contact with confusion and anger. "Hey, Malfoy!" he barked. "I asked you a question."

"So you did," Draco replied coolly, not taking his eyes off the little redhead. His fingers still felt her touch. It was almost electric. He wasn't sure if he was turned on or repulsed by it. He surmised, sickly enough, that it was a combination of both.

A sudden movement—a blur of something thin and dark and the sound of wood slicing through air—caught Draco's attention. Potter had drawn his wand and had it pointed at the blond Slytherin underneath the table.

"Well?" Harry demanded again.

Draco leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, looking haughtily at the green-eyed Gryffindor.

"We're on a date, Potter," he replied curtly. "So sod off!"

"A date?" Harry raised an eyebrow and snorted in return. "You honestly expect me to believe that Ginny would be on a date with _you_, Ferret!"

Draco refused to take the bait. "What can I say, Potter? The women love me. No matter what house, no matter what blood."

Ginny rolled her eyes at this and sat up to interject. Before she could begin, however, Harry had cut her off by stepping in front of her in a protective manner.

"Ginny's not that kind of girl," he replied haughtily. "You can't use her to get to me."

The redhead's eyebrows shot up in surprise at this. How did Harry know what kind of girl she was, and how did this become an issue of Malfoy using her to get to Harry?

"Oh, is that so, Potter?" Draco asked, a bitter smirk finally appearing on his face. "And how would you know what kind of a girl she is? Been in her knickers, have you?"

Draco asked the last question a bit louder and a little more scathing than he had intended. He didn't know why, but the thought of Potter in the little Weasley's knickers greatly irked him.

"I know she is a girl who has standards!" Harry replied, red-faced.

"So you _haven't_ been in her knickers then?" Draco rejoined, with a smug expression on his face.

"Alright, alright! Enough with the male testosterone!" Ginny shouted, interjecting herself between the two boys.

She did not need Malfoy riling up both Harry and her brother by spreading rumours that the two of them were on a date together. She needed to give an explanation that would satisfy Harry's curiosity, cater to Malfoy's ego, and preserve her own sanity.

"Malfoy and I have been paired together to do a joint Potions paper for Professor Slughorn," she explained easily with no trace of doubt or hesitation in her voice.

Draco kept his countenance blank, but, internally, he was intrigued.

"You are not in the same level let alone the same class as him, Ginny!" Harry pointed out the obvious, confused as to why Slughorn would want these two working together on a paper.

"No, but I am a member of Slug Club," Ginny countered, then hastily added before Harry could interject, "and if you attended one of his parties, you would know that he was looking for students to work together on an academic paper to submit to either PROJECT POTIONS or Young Wizards."

The latter part was partly true. Slughorn had briefly mentioned that a few of his previous students had submitted papers to Young Wizards, some of whom later went on to write essays and articles for PROJECT POTIONS, a popular magical periodical. He did not, however, express an interest in recruiting such talent from his current Slug Club members. She was sure that she could convince the popularity-hungry professor otherwise, especially since Hermione had now been invited to the club and would be sure to question Slughorn on such an ambitious endeavour.

"Young Wizards?" Harry asked, sceptically.

"Well, technically it is now called Young _Witches and_ Wizards since the witches' liberal movement of the 'Seventies," Ginny explained with a wave of her hand, trying to act casual and indifferent to the whole matter—hoping that Harry wouldn't ask for a further explanation.

"But Malfoy isn't even a member of Slug Club!" the green-eyed boy cried.

Harry had witnessed Malfoy's unsuccessful attempt to try to cajole his way into Slughorn's good graces by proffering his grandfather's name as link to his own celebrity status.

"No," the redhead replied, quick-witted, "but last year he _did_ receive one of the highest marks in Potions: an O on his O.W.L.s." Ginny looked to Draco for confirmation, and he inclined his head slightly, his lips tight and his eyes dark.

Draco watched the young redhead effortlessly come up with such believable and efficient lies with a mixture of annoyance and wonder: wonder that a Gryffindor (and a Weasley at that) could lie so effortlessly—a real Slytherin trait—and annoyance because the Weaselette brought him down to her level as an equal. He may not have been part of Slughorn's stupid little club, but that did not mean that he wasn't better than she. And the fact that she knew he got an O in his Potions O.W.L.s only angered him immensely. She knew more about him than he knew of her. He was at a disadvantage.

"What is this paper on?" Harry asked, still not convinced.

"The virility of Weasleys and Weasels," Draco answered facetiously, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That's it, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, bringing up his wand level to Draco's head. "Draw your wand!"

"Harry!" Ginny hissed, looking around the library, noticing how others were now beginning to glance in their direction. She could see Ron trying to peel himself away from Hermione's tenacious grip. "Lower your wand, Harry." She placed a hand on his arm. "He isn't worth fighting over!"

Draco's silver eyes narrowed on her hand touching Potter's bare forearm. He ground his teeth in anger. He was not worth fighting over, huh?

"The little Weasel's right, Potter," Draco snarled, ignoring Ginny altogether. "You wouldn't want to look the fool in front of your _girlfriend_!"

"_Me_, the fool?" Harry scoffed, keeping his wand fixed on Malfoy. "Who's the one with a father in jail?"

"Harry, stop it!" Ginny squeezed his arm tighter. "You are better than he is. Don't stoop to his level."

Draco's eyes became slits. Better than he?

He was seething with several emotions that he often felt when compared to Potter: jealousy, envy, and hatred. At that moment, he very much wanted to whip out his wand and use an Unforgivable Curse on him. How dare this Muggle-lover insult he and his father? Unfortunately, he could not just scream at Potter or hurl hexes and curses at him, as much as he wanted to, as much as the git deserved it. Draco had to keep a low profile. He could not be in detention the whole term or the whole year. He could not afford to lose that time. And while he could not take Potter's bait, that didn't stop him from taunting the git

"Yes, Potter," Draco said through gritted teeth, "do not stoop to _my_ level." He looked over at the Weasley girl and smirked. "I'm afraid there is not enough room for you here on _my_ level with Freckles." His eyes narrowed. "Afraid there's only enough room enough for me—me and my head between her dimpled thighs—"

Draco saw Harry's fist before he felt it. With a cry escaping from both his and Ginny's lips, he felt Potter's right fist make contact with his left cheek, causing his inner cheek to scrape against his teeth, issuing forth a small spurt of blood. He brought his fingers to his bloodied lip, which Harry had scraped with his knuckles, and looked down at the blood in disbelief. He spat both blood and phlegm at his feet, contorting his upper lip into a snarl.

"You'll pay for that, Potter!" Draco cried, rising to his feet as he kicked his chair out from behind him, quickly whipping out his wand.

Harry shook off Ginny's hand, which she easily dropped with a stunned look on her face. Everyone's attention in the library was now fixed on Harry and Draco, who were circling each other in an overt display of masculinity and bravado.

"And you will pay for insulting Ginny!" Harry spat back, raising his wand and steadying his stance.

"Oh, come off your high horse, Potter!" Draco roared, rounding on Harry, also bringing his wand up to the Gryffindor's chest. "You think you can convince anyone that _any_ of this is out of sheer nobility and chivalry towards the little Weasley?" He motioned to Ginny with a sudden jerk of his neck.

"What would you know about nobility and chivalry, _Malfoy_?" Harry boomed back, getting more and more worked up.

"More than _you_, Pot-head!" Draco almost screamed back at him, then calmed himself down. "At least I don't use a girl as an excuse to start a fight!"

"No, you use a girl as an excuse to _get out_ of a fight!" Harry rallied back, a smug look of satisfaction lingering on his face.

Draco's face contorted in rage. How dare he accuse him of being a coward?

"_Cruci—_"

"_SECTUMSEMPRA_!" Harry bellowed, waving his wand in a sideways, slashing manner, cutting Draco off from using the Cruciatus Curse.

Blood spurted from Draco's chest and poured out of his mouth like a fountain. It was as though he had been slashed with a sword. He staggered backwards and stumbled into his chair, falling to his knees. He looked up wide-eyed at Harry, clutching at his bloodied and torn chest as he fell unceremoniously to the floor.

"No—" Harry gasped, as he rushed to Draco's side.

Ginny was on the other side of Draco in a heartbeat, watching the young blood-splattered blond roll onto his back. His eyes were still wide open; his chest shakily rose and fell; his breathing becoming ragged and shallow.

"Why?" was all that Ginny could ask, glancing over at Harry.

"I didn't—" he whispered back in disbelief.

Draco tried to speak, but his voice only made a gurgling sound as blood spurted from his mouth. A crowd had begun to gather around them, and a few girls screamed in unison and others fainted at the sight of Draco Malfoy lying in a pool of his own blood.

"Get Professor Snape!" Ginny yelled to no one in particular, as she reached down and took Draco's bloodstained hand into her own.

Someone must have listened, as several students took off out of the library. She could hear someone shouting Snape's name.

Draco's hand twitched in hers as his other clutched helplessly at his bloodied chest. He turned his head to look up at her. He hadn't slept in almost a week, and the amount of blood he was losing was staggering. It made him sleepy.

"Everything is going to be alright," she said soothingly, holding his hand and watching him blink at her.

He weakly squeezed her hand in return.

Ginny Weasley's long red hair and large brown eyes were the last sights Draco Malfoy saw before he slipped out of consciousness.

**xXx**

**Author notes:**

_Sectumsempra_ - 'always cutting'. Violently wounds the target; described as being as though the subject had been 'slashed by a sword'.


	7. Let's Find Out

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Seven: Let's Find Out_

The happiest moments in life were when he was with her. They were simple pleasures: the way she would smile at him from the other side of the classroom, the way she would tuck an errant strand of red hair behind her ear while she listened to him speak, the way her eyes would sparkle when she shared her secrets with him, the way her mellifluous laughter would carry across a room when he made one of his rare jokes, and especially the way she would say his name...

_Severus._

That life, however, was long past, long gone. That path, or the possibility of such a path, was obliterated by a single word, a single act. It was his own fault, and he knew it. Every day of his life he has regretted it, has been in constant pain, doubt, and sorrow because of it, for now he has nothing and no one.

Today, the simplest pleasure was punishing a reminder of his past: Harry Potter. How he loathed the boy. He was so much like his father: arrogantly presuming and projecting his superiority, magic or moral-wise onto others. The boy had no clue, no idea how much of a hypocrite he was. However, he was still a boy, and perhaps Severus had judged him too quickly, too harshly.

Image-wise, the boy was a carbon copy of his father. He even had all the luck James had, but he never had the love—and that was the one thing that Severus and Harry had in common. As much as Harry was like James, in his heart, Severus knew that there was so much of _her_ in him, so much of his Lily. On days like these, however, Severus was convinced that his earlier conjecture was most accurate: Harry Potter was indeed his father's son.

**xXx**

Professor Snape had just left Dumbledore's office and was on his way to the Entrance Hall when he heard several students shouting his name. One of them sprinted across the hall to face him.

"Professor Snape!" young Colin Creevey called, out of breath.

"Yes?" Snape asked in his usual drawn out and annoyed tone.

The sallow-looking professor hadn't bothered to reprimand the boy for running and yelling in the halls. The fact that a young Gryffindor had sought him out most likely meant that something serious had occurred. Why chance a detention?

"There was a duel," Creevey said between gasps, "in the library." The young Gryffindor bent down and clutched at his knees.

Impatiently, Snape swirled his finger in a barrelling motion, attempting to encourage the boy to finish his message.

"Malfoy is hurt," Creevey explained, a contorted look of pain and worry etched across his face as he finally added the disturbing adjective, "badly!"

Snape took off at once towards the library, pushing the young Creevey boy out of his way. When he arrived, he found a group of students gathered around the prone body of Draco Malfoy. He wasted no time in parting the crowd.

"Out of my way!" Snape all but growled, flourishing his robes as he began to dramatically roll up his sleeves, withdrawing his wand from inside the inner sleeve of his black tunic.

Startled, the students quickly began to disperse, and Snape was able to see Malfoy lying in a rather undignified manner on his back while Potter knelt beside him on the floor. Surprisingly, young Ginny Weasley was on the other side of the blond, holding onto his limp hand. Before Severus could even begin to comment on the peculiarity of the indelible scene before him, he spotted what appeared to be large knife-like wounds on Draco's chest and a tell-tale expression that hung on Potter's face like a guilty verdict.

"I might have known," he growled, pushing Potter out of his way as he leaned down to examine Draco.  
Snape knew right away what had happened, what spell had been used against the Slytherin. He lowered himself to his knees and traced his wand over Draco's wounds, muttering an incantation that sounded more like a song. The spell appeared to staunch the bleeding, and as he repeated it, the wounds magically began to knit and mend.

"Madam Pince!" Snape snapped at the librarian, who was hovering behind him as he cleaned the pallid boy's face.

"Yes, Professor Snape?" she questioned, still in shock from what had transpired in her library.

"Please escort Mister Malfoy to the hospital wing. You will need to levitate him since he is still unconscious. Tell Madam Pomfrey to put dittany on his wounds post-haste. If immediately administered, he may yet avoid permanent scarring," he instructed in an even tone.

Madam Pince eagerly complied and began to levitate Draco, taking him to the infirmary. Once she left, Snape rounded on the rest of the students, who were gawking at the spot where Draco had been lying moments earlier.

"Everyone else, get out!" he commanded, then pointed a long finger at Harry. "Except you, Potter."

As though branded by hot pokers, all of the students jumped back and began clambering over one another, trying to get out of the library as quickly as possible. Ginny gave Harry a somewhat sympathetic look then turned a wary eye on Professor Snape. She made to get up but frowned when she glanced down at the small pool of blood where Malfoy had lain. A dark object caught her eye. It was his wand—the tip of it lying in his own blood. She cautiously picked it up and held it tightly in her fist as she made her way out the library.

Snape hadn't even noticed Ginny pick up Draco's wand. Instead, his black eyes were solely fixed on Harry's. "I underestimated you, Potter," he said quietly, once Ginny had left the room. "Who would have guessed that you are so well-versed in dark magic." His eyes narrowed, looking down his hooked nose at the green-eyed Gryffindor. "From whom did you learn this spell?"

"I—read about it somewhere," Harry replied truthfully.

"Where?"

"In…the library—one of the books here in the Restricted Section. I can't remember what it was—"

"Liar!" Snape hissed between his teeth.

He was not going to be put over by this boy. He knew what spell Harry had used, and used it blindly on a student to boot! Draco Malfoy was now lying unconscious in the hospital wing because of Potter. Who knows what this incident might have done to him, and if it would deter him from Lord Voldemort's plan. If Draco could not complete his task—if sickness, doubt, or death prevented him from fulfilling it—then what of the vow _he_ made? Snape knew the answer all too well.

"Bring me your school bag, Potter, and all of your books," Snape ordered evenly through gritted teeth. "And I mean _all_ of them. Bring them to me here, now!"

**xXx**

Draco had not yet regained consciousness when Madam Pince brought him into the hospital wing. Upon arrival, Madam Pomfrey immediately went to work on Draco, applying the dittany to his wounds, as instructed. She was relieved to find that both she and Professor Snape had begun the treatment just in time. Draco would have minimal scarring: only a thin white line that would run across his right pectoral to his right bicep.

Content that the handsome young man would be on the mend shortly, she left his bedside to enter another room adjacent to the hospital wing where she could work on the inventory that she had started before the young Slytherin had been rushed into her infirmary. She had already left the room when Professor Dumbledore walked in to check up on him.

The headmaster folded his hands in front of his torso and observed Draco's peaceful slumber with silent contemplation. He had not been standing there long when Snape strode into the room.

"You've already been told," he commented dryly, standing beside the headmaster.

Dumbledore nodded his head in affirmation and motioned for Snape to follow him to the other side of the room so that they could converse more freely in private.

"I am assuming that you have no evidence," Professor Dumbledore said plainly, the characteristic gleam absent from his eyes.

"I have witnesses who saw Potter perform the act! Is that not evidence enough, Albus?" Snape snapped at the older man in annoyance.

"Of course it is enough evidence, Severus," the white-haired wizard agreed, using soothing tones. "What I meant was that you have no evidence of where Harry picked up this spell."

Snape frowned bitterly. "No, but I have my guesses."

"And you are entitled to them, Severus," Dumbledore said, grimacing, "but for now you will have to be content with keeping him in detention every Saturday for the rest of the term; that is, unless I need him."

Snape snorted at the word 'content'. He refused to relent on Potter's obvious guilt in the matter and demanded that the boy be more severely punished.

"The boy needs discipline!" Snape hissed, raising his voice, daring the headmaster to disagree with his most valid point.

In response, Dumbledore only raised his hand then lowered it in an effort to silence the former Potions master. He pointed over to Draco Malfoy's bed, which Ginny Weasley was now standing over. Shocked, Snape turned to look at Dumbledore, who was scrutinising the scene before them with mild look of interest and amusement. Snape's surprised expression swiftly turned into a scowl as he observed the older wizard. Somehow, he couldn't help but think that old sage was fully aware of what was going on.

**xXx**

Ginny had been waiting outside the hospital wing for the better part of an hour with Malfoy's wand clutched tightly in her small hands. Once Snape had expelled everyone out of the library, she immediately made her way to the infirmary and sat down on one of the benches outside in the hallway. She had no idea why she felt the need to give him his wand back, but here she was. Madam Pomfrey refused to allow her inside, so she decided to simply sit there and wait. After a short while, she began to get fidgety, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Unable to hold her bladder any longer, she jumped up and rushed off to one of the girls' lavatories nearby.

Not long after she had left, Professor Dumbledore entered the hospital wing, shortly thereafter followed by Professor Snape. When she returned, both relieved and calmer, she sat back down on the bench and waited patiently to see Malfoy. After a lengthy period of sitting, she finally decided to test the waters and see if she could enter the room quietly and drop off his wand.

As she gingerly stepped across the threshold of the room, she peeked her head inside, looking for both Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey. She spotted the blond lying on one of the beds to her immediate right. She walked over to the sleeping Slytherin and put his wand on the cabinet next to his bed. She sighed deeply, staring down at the slumbering boy. His face was peaceful and serene, like that of an angel. The curve of his jaw and the definition of his sculpted cheekbones set in ivory glowed warmly in the dim light. His pale, pink lips were parted slightly, inhaling and exhaling air noiselessly, as his chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his breathing.

Not knowing why, Ginny felt the sudden desire to touch the sleeping angel. She tentatively reached down with her fingertips to brush aside the white-blond wisps of hair that stuck to his forehead that was lightly beaded with sweat. As she did this, Malfoy's long, blond eyelashes began to flutter open, and his lower lashes tickled against his cheeks. Slowly, he opened his eyes, revealing unnatural pale-grey irises.

Grey met brown.

Ginny watched in horrid amazement as Draco reached up with a satin-smooth hand and gently touched her cheek. His gaze was adoring, although his eyes were unfocused.

"Here you've come to haunt my dreams again," he sighed, tracing his thumb along her jaw.

Dumbfounded and unable to react, Ginny simply stared as Draco Malfoy caressed her cheek.

"Why must you look so beautiful?" he breathed. "Like a seductive angel."

Draco brought his hand behind her neck and pulled her face down towards his. His eyes were half-open, and the corners of his mouth began to twitch into the form of a smile.

"But you are really a succubus, aren't you?" A bitter-sweet grin fashioned on his face. "Here to tempt me to my ruin, to bring me to shame," he murmured, yawning as his hand still tightly held the back of her neck.

"You don't need my help for that, Malfoy," Ginny offered somewhat awkwardly, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

She had no idea how to respond to the boy. He was acting so uncharacteristically Malfoy: he was being sweet and charming. Ginny supposed that it must have been a fever talking or a spell.

"What?" he asked more lucidly, as if waking from a dream.

Draco blinked rapidly, his eyesight focusing then narrowing in on the face of the young Weasley girl. Startled, he drew his hand back, which was gently clutching the back of her neck. His skin was on fire, and he felt as though he was displaced, ripped out of another dimension. He sat up in his bed and propped himself up on his elbows, fully understanding that this was _not_ a dream.

"What are _you_ doing here, Weasley?" he croaked out in surprise and revulsion.

"I came here to give you your wand back!" she snapped, pointing to the wand on the table beside him.

Draco looked at his wand and then briefly looked around the room. "Why am I here?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular.

"You were hurt," Ginny answered, her tone a little softer now, a little more relaxed.

"Hurt?" Draco looked up at her, confused, then everything suddenly came rushing back to him: the conversation in the library with the Weasley girl, the wager, and Potter's challenge to a duel. "Came here to rub it in my face then, Weaselette?" he snarled, his countenance quickly morphing from confusion to anger.

"Yeah," Ginny replied in a resentful tone. "I like to mock people for getting slashed open by dark magic by bringing their wands to them in their hospital bed. It's how I get my jollies."

Draco growled at her cantankerous remark. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I told you," she stated simply.

"Well, then you've returned it," he replied, at a loss for what to say next.

"So..." Ginny trailed off, foolishly expecting a 'thank-you' in return.

"So?" Draco asked. "You have done enough damage today, Weasley."

Ginny's brown eyes narrowed on the belligerent Slytherin. "You can go straight to hell, Malfoy!" she yelled, then turned around and stormed out of the infirmary.

"Tell Potter that he's going to pay!" he shouted at her back, watching her take off, away from him.

**xXx**

Standing in the corner, unseen, Dumbledore and Snape stood silent. Both had watch the redhead burst out of the room, and, after a few minutes, the fuming blond settled back down on his bed and promptly fell back asleep. Snape opened his mouth first, prepared to comment on the peculiarity of the interaction between the two teenagers, when he looked over at the headmaster to see amused and contemplative expressions playing across his withered features.

"You derived entertainment from that, didn't you?" Snape asked, a revolted look on his face.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," Dumbledore answered, taking his eyes off the slumbering Malfoy to direct his attention to the former Potions professor.

"Seeing a Slytherin and Gryffindor interact like that..." Snape paused. "You don't find that unusual, _unnatural_?" he asked guardedly, raising an eyebrow sceptically at the old headmaster.

"Oh, I don't know." Dumbledore grinned slightly. "I have seen very favourable interactions between Slytherins and Gryffindors in the past."

Snape scowled, knowing exactly which Slytherin and Gryffindor the headmaster was referring to.

"This all isn't part of some plan of yours, is it?" Snape asked, then immediately shook his head, waving his hands in front of his face. "Never mind. I do not want to know. I have enough culpability in this lifetime to last me a second." He turned his back to Dumbledore, intent on leaving the room straight away.

"We are all culpable, Severus," Dumbledore mused softly, slowly directing his attention away from the Head of Slytherin towards the corner of the room.

Snape snorted at Dumbledore's comment as he deliberately and purposely strode out the doors of the infirmary.

"Some more than others," he added in an exceptionally low voice, as he exited the room.

The headmaster smiled sadly as he briefly turned his head to watch Severus leave. He then turned his attention back to the dark corner of the room.

"Speaking of guilt," Dumbledore said aloud, walking towards the darkness. "Are you having doubts, old man?"

There was silence, then a velvety, low chuckle emanated from the shadows. A pair of luminous eyes peered out through the darkness.

"I always doubt mortals," the deep voice replied.

"That is not what I was referring to."

The bass voice did not respond.

"I know what you have been doing," Dumbledore said. His tone was soft, but his eyes were hard.

There was a pregnant silence and finally a soft yet resonant reply. "And what is that?"

Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "I may be a mere mortal, my friend, but I am not unobservant. I know what you did with the girl—the same thing I expect you are here to do with the boy, or…" He paused. "Or perhaps the display that Severus and I just witnessed was your doing."

"You credit me with too much, Albus," the deep voice retorted without humility or mirth.

"Nonetheless, you are here now, and I suspect that you are about to do the same with the boy as you did with the girl."

The room grew mute, and this time the shadows refused to breach the silence.

"You are here to warn him," Dumbledore said quietly, "to tell him the truth."

A jovial and disturbing laughter exploded from the shadows. "Why, Albus, are you afraid that I am here to threaten clarity in the presence of _your_ truth? Because you, above all others, should know that the last thing I have to offer is clarity."

"But you can still offer the truth, and I know that you want to. I know that you have tried, in your own way."

More silence.

"The letter—"

"And what if I have?" The darkness finally reacted. "I can see just as plainly as you, Albus, if not better. They are only children. They should be told the truth."

Dumbledore frowned and stepped closer towards the shadows. "And you, old friend, should know just as well as any other that the truth can not be entertained in youth but only in its passing."

"And what passage of youth are you allowing them, _friend_?" the darkness asked, laughing bitterly. "They shall suffer fate, nay? Just like the others you have doomed."

The white-haired wizard scowled at the voice in shadows. "No, they shall benefit from my wisdom, from my mistakes. However," he added, "knowing too much too soon can turn everything upside down." Dumbledore's eyes grew cold and mirthless. "The truth is a powerful and often destructive force."

The shadows seemed to grin at this. "So are lies, Albus."

"So are lies," Dumbledore agreed, sadly.

The air seemed to thicken with sorrow and regret. Memories of days past, of another life, invaded the headmaster's very senses. His thoughts grew as dark as the shadows themselves.

"I know their fates," the voice stated ominously, rupturing Dumbledore's melancholy.

"I know you do," he responded with a sigh, glad to be distracted from his internal memoirs. "I know you want to spare them, as do I."

"But you do not want them to think that they have options."

"That is not it at all," Dumbledore explained somewhat painfully. "I want them to realise that they have every opportunity to turn back, to not go forward."

"It makes it easier then, does it?"

"Makes what easier?"

"Easier to send them off to their doom when you have led them to believe that they have always had a choice."

Dumbledore's countenance turned to stone, and his eyes hardened. "You will do as promised, Morpheus, what you swore an oath to," he said evenly, without emotion.

A low growl erupted from the shadows in response, and then it was gone.

Dumbledore stood in the silence of the darkness, brooding. A soft snore escaped the lips of the young Malfoy on the other side of the room, disturbing the headmaster from the cobwebs of his meditations. He did not like what he had to do and who he was forced to involve, but it was a necessary evil. In the end, it was all for the greater good.

**xXx**

"I told you this Half-Blood Prince was the sordid sort!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands on her hips, looking down at both Ron and Harry, who were both seated on one of the large sofas.

Ginny had just arrived to the common room in time to witness Hermione lecturing Harry on the wickedness of cheating and using spells created by someone that he didn't know.

"He was right about everything else, Hermione," Harry retorted, handing back Ron's copy of _Advanced __Potions_.

"And so you found this spell written in the book, didn't bother to tell any of us about it, and then decided 'Hey, I'll just use this on Malfoy here!'" Hermione remarked acerbically. "In the library of all places!"

Ginny furrowed her brow in rumination, reflecting on what her brainy friend had just stated, then stepped in front of the Trio.

"You did something that a book told you to do?" Ginny asked Harry slowly and deliberately, enunciating her words carefully. Her eyes were questioning, and her voice was reprimanding.

"It's not _that_ kind of a book, Ginny," Harry explained somewhat petulantly, understanding the point that the redhead was trying to make.

"From my experience," Ginny said, sitting down on the chair across from them, "it is when something doesn't appear to be anything, it often ends up becoming everything."

The Trio looked at her in silence.

"That made absolutely no sense!" Ron said, openly gawking at his sister.

Ginny rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. So, Harry had used a spell on Malfoy that he had learnt from some stranger's writings in a book. A few of the aforementioned Slytherin's not-so-endearing nicknames for Harry popped into her head: golden child, wonder boy, pot-head...

"So," Hermione began nervously, trying to avoid the subject altogether, "is Malfoy alright?"

Harry leaned forward eagerly, also wishing to know the answer to that question.

"I don't know," Ginny answered, shrugging her shoulders. "I think he is, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me see him."

"Why did you go check up on _Malfoy_?" Ron asked with incredulity and disgust laced in his voice.

"To give him back his wand," she answered truthfully, then turned her head to cough.

"Do you still have it?" Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. "No, I was able to get inside and leave it on his bedside cabinet. He was sleeping when I went in," she lied. Ginny did not feel comfortable telling them about her verbal and physical interaction with the grey-eyed Slytherin.

"Why _were_ you with Malfoy in the library, Ginny?" Ron asked, his body rigid and his expression serious. He had obviously wanted to ask this question in the library before Harry and Draco's duel.

"At lunch, you said you were going to go lay down," Hermione added, to Ginny's dismay.

Both Ron and Harry nodded their heads at this.

"I was," Ginny replied, feeling a knot form in the pit of her stomach. She hated lying to her friends. "I saw Malfoy on my way out of the Great Hall, and we both decided to go to the library and work on our Potions project."

"Potions project?" Hermione asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Oh, that," Harry said absently, nodding his head.

Both Ron and Hermione remained puzzled, looking to Harry for an explanation.

"Ginny told me that she and Malfoy were assigned to writing a paper for Slughorn," he elucidated.

"Oh?" Hermione asked once again, still very much intrigued.

"It's a paper he wants us to submit to _Young Wizards_," Ginny explained as Hermione's countenance brightened. "A Slug Club thing, you know." She shrugged sheepishly.

"You mean Young _Witches and_ Wizards," Hermione corrected, and Ginny nodded her head in annoyance. "Slughorn invited me to join his club as well." The brunette beamed then glanced over at Ron, seeing the predictable scowl plastered on his face. "What's the paper on?"

The brainy Gryffindor was trying to draw attention away from her joining Slughorn's club for the benefit of sparing Ron's pride, but the male redhead was far more concerned about Malfoy and his little sister.

"Who cares about the paper?" Ron cried, standing up. "Why does Slug want you working with _Malfoy_?"

"I don't know, Ron!" Ginny spat back, getting very annoyed with all the questioning.

"Ron just cares about you, Ginny, as do I," Harry tried to explain in a soothing tone. "We _all_ do. We don't want to see you get used or hurt by Malfoy."

"The only one I saw get hurt today _was_ Malfoy!" Ginny growled.

"Ginny!" both Ron and Harry called out to her, shocked at her accusation.

Ginny would have none of it. She was annoyed and furious. She wasn't a child, and she wasn't about to be treated like one by her brother and his best friend, who were only a year older than she! So, with a flourish of robes and long, wavy red hair, Ginny Weasley stormed out of the Gryffindor towers—her second dramatic departure of the evening. As she made her way out of the common room, in a huff, towards the exit, she ran out of the portrait of the Fat Lady and nearly collided into a solid-moving object.

"Hey, there. Watch it now, Ginny," Dean Thomas said, a slight smile on his face as he caught the redhead.

"Oh, sorry, Dean," Ginny mumbled, looking down at her shoes, unwilling to look the fellow Gryffindor in the eye.

"You okay, Ginny?" Dean asked, concerned. "You, uh, seem to have been avoiding me lately."

Ginny looked up at him and smiled feebly. She _had_ been avoiding Dean since she made Chaser at the beginning of the year. In all honesty, she had been ignoring him since they first got off the train at Hogwarts.

"I've been really busy," Ginny lied.

"Yeah, me too," Dean agreed none-too-convincingly.

They both stared at each other in awkward silence until Ginny got up the nerve to speak again. "I have to go," she said, trying to make her way past Dean.

Grudgingly, he let her pass, watching her as she bounded down the stairs. "Ginny, are we still dating?" he cried out after her, making her stop and turn around.

"I-I don't know, Dean," she confessed then sighed. "I just…I just need some time to be alone."

Dean nodded his head a little. He wasn't quite sure if she had dumped him or not. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"No," she replied, turning around to go back down the stairs. "I think we need a break."

**xXx**

How Ginny made her way to the Slytherin dormitories, she could not even begin to fathom an explanation. After the spat with her brother and the awkward and uncomfortable encounter with Dean, Ginny had just taken off down the corridors and wandered aimlessly, losing all track of time and sense of direction.

"Look who just entered the snake's nest," a smooth voice all but purred in her ear.

She turned around sharply, and a slight gasp escaped her lips. She came face-to-face with none other than the golden-eyed Slytherin, Blaise Zabini.

"Zabini!" Ginny said defiantly, recovering her Gryffindor courage.

"Weasley," Blaise replied softly, inclining his head slightly as a small smile tugged at his full lips.

"What do you want?" she growled, gaining her courage in greater measures.

"I'm not the one treading on enemy territory, Weasley." His lips curved into an even wider grin. "_I_ should be asking _you_ the questions, Red." His eyes lit up as he smiled, twinkling a radiant shade of golden brown. "The first of which questions is: how did you get here?"

Ginny did not know how to answer that question. She looked around the dungeons, seeing no one else but Zabini. "I don't know," she confessed, something very uncharacteristic of her.

Blaise cocked an eyebrow in the air. "Well, I guess that precludes me from asking my next question, which is _why_ you are here," he drawled, absently waving his hand in the air.

"Where is 'here'?" Ginny asked abruptly, questioning herself as to why she was revealing her ignorance to a Slytherin.

Blaise laughed. It was a light-hearted laugh, void of malice. "You are serious," he stated more so than asked. He grinned at her look of confusion and carefully laid a large hand on her shoulder. "Weasley, you are in the Slytherin dormitories."

Ginny's eyes widened in astonishment, oblivious to the fact that he had his hand on her shoulder.

"You know that the location to the dormitories is know only to Slytherins," he informed her quietly, glancing about the halls. "It is unwise for a Gryffindor to be down here."

"I—" Ginny began but stopped short when she heard raised voices coming from around the corner.

"I wish I had been there!" a girl's voice shrieked. "I would have used an Unforgivable on him!"

Ginny could hear Pansy's high-pitch voice raise several octaves in anger.

"Oh, and poor Draco," another voice—female—added sympathetically.

"Yes, my poor lover," Pansy crooned. "If there is any scarring on him, I swear I will personally eviscerate Potter!"

"_Eviscerate_!" Blaise hissed through gritted teeth, rolling his eyes as the Slytherin girls fast approached them. "The girl hears me use the word _once_ in a sentence, and it becomes her word of the week!"

He shook his head and grabbed Ginny's shoulder, quickly dragging her towards the common room entrance, which was a blank wall. Ginny thought to protest, but her objections were cut short by Blaise's lips, which crushed against her own as he roughly shoved her up against a wall, covering her small frame with his much larger one.

"Ah, what a guy," Pansy snidely remarked to her female companions as she came around the corner, spotting Blaise near the entrance. "Instead of checking up on his best mate, he snogs some fourth-year in the corner."

The other girls nodded in agreement, sharing Pansy's revulsion.

"Try some decency and class, Zabini," Pansy commented shrilly, as she walked past him.

Once Pansy and the others had fully entered the dormitories, Blaise stepped back from Ginny, removing his lips from hers.

"Sorry about that, Weasley," he commented dryly, "but her catching you here would not have boded well for you." He then looked behind them both, back towards the halls. "There will be more coming. You will have to leave."

Ginny nodded her head slowly, still dumbfounded by the Slytherin's concern for her safety—that and the fact that he had kissed her.

"Here," Blaise said, half-dragging her towards the corner of the dormitory where an obscure door stood. It was partially visible, at least more visible than the Slytherin common room entrance.

To her chagrin, he reached into her pockets and deftly withdrew her wand, handing it over to her as he pointed it in the direction of the door.

"This is Malfoy's room. You can hide in here for now."

Ginny looked up at the handsome, dark-skinned boy with her wand in hand and blinked at him in confusion. A Slytherin wanted to help her? Why? And how was hiding her in Malfoy's room helping her at all? How was she supposed to get inside?

"How?" she finally asked.

Blaise shrugged his shoulders as he straightened his robes, keeping his eyes and ears peeled for Slytherin action. "That I can't help you with, Weasley. I suggest you figure it out soon before someone less auspicious than myself finds you here."

Ginny blanched at the idea of being found by another Slytherin. "But—"

"But _what_, Weasley?" Blaise asked, his congenial attitude from earlier quickly vanishing. "It's either Malfoy's room or find your own way out of here."

And with that, he took off towards the blank wall of the common room entrance, whispered a password that Ginny could not hear, and turned to wink at her with a charming grin on his face. He then quickly disappeared inside, leaving her alone.

"Bollocks!" Ginny half-shouted, her wand still clutched in her hand and pointed directly at Malfoy's door.

At once, the door swung open, and Ginny stood back, flabbergasted, her mouth wide open. Hesitant, at first, to step inside, she quickly changed her mind when she heard voices coming from down the hall. So, she jumped inside and hastily closed the door. Taking in the décor of the room—its expensive fabrics of silver and green—Ginny looked to her right to see a large portrait door, which she assumed was connected to the Slytherin common room. The room, itself, was richly furnished with mahogany dressers, an armoire, and a desk and chair. A small leather lounge and matching chairs sat in front of a large stone fireplace. Settled in the middle of the room was a massive four-poster bed. Beside the bed was a large window with an enchanted view of the lake. She assumed it was enchanted since she was sure that she had wandered down into a section of the dungeons. The Slytherin dormitories, she conjectured, must be located under the lake.

Ginny slowly began to walk around the room until she reached the foot of the bed where she almost bumped into a large wooden chest. She looked down and saw a bundle of clothing strewn on top: a Quidditch uniform. She sighed and walked around to the right side of the bed where she spotted a picture frame on the bedside cabinet. Tentatively, she picked up the large silver frame to examine it. It was a photograph of Draco as a small child. He was seated with both his parents. All three were smiling, looking happy and content. Ginny couldn't help but smile in return. Draco looked about five. His eyes had a mischievous glint to them, but his smile was wide and inviting.

She carefully put the picture back down on the table and sat down on the large, soft bed. She looked down at her hands and began to rub her fingers together in confusion, examining them with a concerted effort. She tried desperately to focus on her hands and yawned loudly. Her eyesight began to dim and her head swam, becoming light and dizzy.

"I—" she said aloud then stopped.

Her vision blurred completely, and her mind went vertigo. She tightly gripped the bed sheets as her eyes began to roll into the back of her head, and she felt her form take flight as the rest of her body fell back onto the bed, slipping deep into the realm of sleep.

**xXx**

Madam Pomfrey roused Draco from his sleep with a start. She gently told him that he could return to his room, and she gave him a hall pass to the kitchens so that he could grab a bite to eat since he had missed dinner that evening. As she left to retire, Draco sat up in bed, bringing his hand down to his bandaged chest in remembrance.

_Potter._

Draco scowled and began to get up, folding back the sheets of the bed as he slid his legs out and lowered his feet to the cool surface of the floor. In front of him, on the bedside cabinet, lay his wand. He vaguely remembered the Weasley girl returning it to him. He frowned and picked it up then began to search for his robes and other clothes. After finding them hanging in a closet near the door, he immediately got dressed and threw on his robes, stuffing his wand into his pocket as he slipped out of the door of the hospital wing.

He decided to forgo the kitchens and make his way back to his room instead. He wasn't all that hungry anyway. He just wanted to go to his room, lie in his own bed, and come up with a plan to get back at Potter.

_No, wait_, Draco thought, as he finally reached the door to his room. _I have to concentrate on repairing the Vanishing Cabinet and_— Draco cut his thoughts short, unwilling to finish them.

"Ah, bollocks to Potter!" Draco spat aloud, and the door to his room swung open ceremoniously.

_That isn't my password_, he thought to himself.

Draco slowly stepped into his room, unsure of why the door opened to an incorrect password (his password was 'dinglefritz'). He quietly closed the door behind him and drew his wand, muttering "_Lumos_". A small beam of light glowed at the end of his wand, much like a torch.

He looked over at his bed and spotted something small and moving. He pointed his wand down at the creature. When he saw the shape and colour of it, he rolled his eyes in both annoyance and relief, then directed his wand at the golden orb beside his bed and filled it with light. The light inside the orb seemed to only intensify the colour and texture of the long waves of red hair that fanned out on his pillow, and Draco looked down with dismay as he watched the freckled girl breathe, her chest rising and falling. Her full, pink lips were parted and moist; her eyelashes fluttered rapidly as though she was having a dream.

The corners of his mouth began to twitch into a reluctant smile as he examined her, slightly admiring her slender form asleep on his bed. She was still in her robes on top of the covers. One hand lay above her head while the other rested on the smoothness of her abdomen. Her shirt must have ridden up to her chest in the restlessness of sleep. He could see the white lace of her bra, and his mind wandered as another part of his body rose to attention.

He leaned over her, tracing his finger along her jawline, unsure of why he was doing this. She was a Weasley, a blood traitor, poor, and common, yet he could not resist touching her, not while she was asleep, not while they were alone on his bed. He traced his fingertips over her full lips and paused. This was wrong. What was this girl doing in his room? How did she get here? Did _she_ change his password? He needed to find answers, not to be playing about.

As he made to wake her, question her, then throw her out of his room on her arse, the She-Weasel began to stir of her own volition. He watched as she writhed on his bed and then, astonishingly, breathed his name.

"Draco," she moaned in her slumber, clutching at his bed sheets.

It was almost sexual, and he felt his lower body tingle, his trousers becoming constricted. He watched her face as it began to contort and change from serenity to dread.

"Tom," Ginny whined, visibly trembling. "No, please, don't!"

Draco frowned and leaned over her, prepared to wake her from her nightmare.

"Draco!" Ginny screamed this time.

He jumped back in shock and extracted his wand from his pocket, pointing it at the Weasley girl's head. "_Legilimens_!"

Just as he said the spell, Ginny's eyes popped open, and Draco was thrown from her mind. He staggered back as her hand shoot out and grabbed his. Her eyes were wide and wet, and her bottom lip was trembling as she looked up at him.

"Is this a dream?" she whispered.

Draco thought on it for a moment, still shaken by her behaviour, then decided to throw all caution to the wind. "Let's find out," he whispered, leaning in close.

He placed his hand against her smooth, pale cheek and drew her face close to his, bringing his lips down to taste hers. He felt her resist at first, then her body relented, allowing him to take her into the kiss. He worked slowly, at first, then his lips assailed hers, greedily and hungrily invading her mouth, seeking force in return from her full, pink lips.

Ginny eagerly complied and darted her small, soft tongue into his mouth, dancing it across his own. She brought her hands up to caress his cheeks, like she had done so many times in her dreams. She drew in his breath as though she was drowning. She could not get enough of his touch as his hands slid down her cheeks and roamed her body, caressing her back and cupping the swell of her breasts. He invaded her very senses.

Draco, in turn, could not have her close enough. He felt that any gap between them, no matter how small, was infinitely wide and dreadfully horrible. He pulled her closer to him, entwining his fingers into her hair, gripping it and pulling her head back to expose her neck. He nipped at her collarbone, her throat, devouring her sweet-smelling, sweet-tasting flesh.

Seconds that felt like minutes, like hours, had passed, and they broke off sharply, gasping for air, staring at each other hungrily and expectantly. This was the point. This was when reality was to come crashing down around them. This was when they were to both wake up in a classroom or in their own beds, coming to the realisation that this was all a dream.

Oh, but what a cruel and unpredictable mistress Fortune can be. Their silence was deafening; the realisation was horrifying. The veracity of this moment was to be more palpable and terrifying than ever expected: _this_ was not a dream.

**xXx**

**Author Notes:** Special thanks to **Cadaverous Apples** for beta-ing this chapter. =)

_Lumos_ - 'light'. Creates a narrow beam of light that shines from the wand's tip. I also have it to light up orbs or other objects of glass to create a lamp.

_Legilimens_ - 'to read mind'. Allows the caster to delve into the mind of the victim, allowing the caster to see the memories, thoughts, and emotions of the victim.


	8. Under Pressure

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Eight: Under Pressure_

A nervous silence hung in the air like a thick, damp fog. Every sense was heightened: one could hear the other's breath, feel the other's heart beat, smell the other's scent, taste the other's flavour; see the other's desire. Their gaze was poignant, but it was not to last.

Both mutely looked into each other's eyes, breathing hard, still holding each other close. Draco could hear the soft catch in her breath and feel the heat emanate off her body. He still had his fingers entwined in her hair, with the tips brushing against the nape of her neck. She was smiling up at him through half-lidded eyes, unintentionally battling her eyelashes at him as she absently bit down on her bottom lip. The smile slowly dissolved as both suddenly realised that something was wrong, very wrong. This was normally where they woke up or something happened in order to stir them from their reveries. However, this was not a daydream; this was real. A barrage of mixed feelings hit them both, and it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began.

"I—" Ginny began, unable to formulate a coherent idea in her head let alone express a rational thought.

Draco abruptly let go and jumped up from the bed, standing at attention with his arms rigid at his sides.

"How in Merlin's name did you get in my room?"

Ginny frowned. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" he cried. "How can that be?" He rounded on her. "You had to have known how to get to the Slytherin dormitories in the first place, then you had to have somehow figured out my password."

"I have no idea how I got down here!" she snapped, frustrated. "I was just out for a walk when I suddenly ended up here in the dungeons." She glanced up to see a look of doubt reflecting in his mercurial eyes. "Then Zabini found me and told me to hide in your room."

Draco literally gaped at her in open incredulity. "_Blaise Zabini_ directed you to _my_ room and told you to hide in here?" he asked, his voice raising an octave. "We are talking about the same Slytherin, yeah?"

"I'm not lying!" she roared back at him, furious that he did not believe her. "He told me to hide in here!"

"So, he gave you the password then?" He folded his arms across his chest.

"No, it just kind of opened," she explained, lamely.

"_It just kind of opened_?" he mimicked, cocking an eyebrow in scepticism. "That's impossible."

"The same kind of impossible _you_ achieved a few weeks ago when you wandered into _my_ locked room?" Ginny asked, glaring up at him.

Draco's look of superiority faltered. "Well, that's different," he retorted.

"How?"

Draco scowled at the redhead then sighed. "So what were you dreaming about?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I can't really remember," she lied.

Draco's eyes narrowed, unconvinced of her answer. "You mentioned my name and that Tom fellow you go on about," he said, sounding uptight.

"You?"

"Yes, me!" He wanted to know exactly what his role in her dream was.

"I don't remember you in my dream," she said softly, lying to him yet again.

"Really?" Draco countered. "So who is this Tom fellow then? Who is this man I am sharing you with in your dreams?" He smirked at her, relishing in the uneasiness he was provoking.

"Tom is Tom Riddle," she replied simply. "He is Voldemort."

"Oh." Draco exhaled softly, unsure of what to say in response.

He now understood why Ginny had her own room. She was haunted every night by dreams of Voldemort, by the man who had possessed her. He wondered how often she woke up in her bed crying or screaming, alone. Shockingly, he found himself slightly admiring her bravery and determination, barring her foolish Gryffindor notion of courage.

"So, why do you think the Dark Lord chose you?" he asked, after a lengthy period of silence. "To read his book, that is."

"He didn't choose me." Ginny laughed somewhat bitterly. "Your father did."

"No, actually," Draco retorted in a resentful tone, "he chose me."

_"Father, whose journal is this?" Draco looked up at his father with a large leather-bound book gripped tightly in his small hands._

_He had found the diary on top of his trunk at the end of his bed. He had flipped through the pages and found them blank. He wondered if his father had decided to give him a journal to take with him back to Hogwarts for his second year._

_Lucius didn't bother to look up from his newspaper, as he brought a cup of tea to his lips. He was reading intently and didn't even seem to acknowledge his son's presence. When Draco unceremoniously cleared his throat to capture his father's attention, Lucius looked up with a slightly annoyed expression on his face.  
__  
"Pardon me, Draco. I was reading. What is it?" Lucius narrowed his eyes on his son then saw the book clutched in Draco's hand._

_Lucius folded his newspaper and placed it on his lap, urging his son to continue._

_"I found this journal on my chest, Father. Do you know whose it is?" he asked once more._

_Lucius smiled and held out his hand for his son to give the book to him. Draco handed it over to his father without question. Lucius leafed through the pages with a frown, which he quickly masked, then closed the book and handed it back to Draco._

_"It is yours," Lucius replied simply, unfolding his newspaper to read it once more. "I thought you might like something to record your thoughts in while at school. Perhaps record some observations?" The older blond looked over top of his newspaper at his son with a knowing expression on his face._

_Draco grimaced slightly and nodded his head, knowing exactly what his father had implied by 'observations'. His father had resumed his reading, and Draco took that as his cue to exit and head back to his room, with book in hand._

_As Draco approached the corridor near his room, he saw a glint of something yellow at the end of the hall catch his eye. He leaned forward, book held closely to his chest, and squinted as he peered into the darkness, trying to discern what the object was that glowed so brightly. He hesitantly took a step forward as the object began to move, separating into two glowing golden orbs. Draco took a step back and straightened himself in shock._

_They were eyes—golden eyes!_

_"Who are you?" Draco asked, afraid that the creature would devour him whole. He looked behind, hoping that a house-elf was nearby. Unfortunately, he had no such luck._

_"My name is unimportant," the soft voice all but whispered._

_Draco cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on the dark outline of the disembodied voice with the glowing eyes. It sounded odd yet familiar. He drew his wand and pointed it at the looming shadows in the hallway._

_Although the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prevented most students Draco's age from performing magic outside of Hogwarts, the Malfoy family had the trace removed; thus, Draco could execute magic with impunity outside the school walls._

_"_Lumos_!"_

_The tip of Draco's wand glowed, lighting up the hallway and revealing the face of the voice with the glowing eyes. It was a boy._

_The boy smiled at Draco, although his eyes were void of such warmth. "I am here to warn you about not writing in the book that you hold there in your hands," he said softly, pointing to the book._

_Draco clutched the journal even more tightly in his hands. He was trying to focus on the boy's face but was unable to do so. He looked familiar, yet he could not place him. Some kind of old magic was preventing him from focusing on the details._

_"Why should I not write in it?" Draco asked sceptically, not trusting the boy, who somehow managed to make his way, undetected, into a well-guarded manor._

_"That book is dreadfully dangerous, Draco," the voice warned. "Do not write in it. Switch it out and replace it with another like it then return it to your father."_

_Draco narrowed his eyes on the boy. "You wish for me to deceive my father?"_

_"I wish for you to have a choice in your fate, Draco," the soft voice replied._

_Draco wrinkled his brow in confusion. What did he mean by 'fate'?_

_"Nox," the boy said softly, stirring Draco from his thoughts, and, to his astonishment, the light from his wand went out._

_The boy smiled and stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as though he had never been there to begin with._

"So, did you write in the book?" Ginny asked quietly, after Draco finished.

"Yes," he replied, looking far off. "Just a few sentences."

"Like what?" she questioned.

"Like _none of your business_, Weasley!" Draco snapped, fully brought back from his ruminations.

"Sorry," she apologised, knowing what it was like to be asked questions about a journal. "It's just that I wrote in Tom's book as well. I know what it felt like..." She paused. "What did you feel after you wrote in it?"

"It was an odd, unnerving sensation," he admitted seriously. "It felt as though a part of me was missing—as though a part of me had been extracted." He looked down at her and scowled. "So you tell me, Weasley. What did it _feel_ like for you?" Draco was beyond aggravated; he was downright cantankerous.

"The opposite, actually," she answered softly, ignoring his rising ire. "It felt as though something had invaded me. I guess that was Tom possessing me." She shrugged her shoulders and lowered her eyes.

Draco's scowl vanished from his face and was replaced with a mild look of curiosity and longing—longing for clarity. "Did that feeling ever leave? Did it ever go away when the book was destroyed?" he asked, desperate for a response. He did not know for sure if the journal had been destroyed. It was only a feeling.

"No," she admitted. "Did the feeling of a piece of you missing ever leave?"

Draco frowned and shook his head. He put his hands in his pockets and sighed, turning his head away from her. "No," he admitted, "but I sense it though, trying to return to me. I feel it close when I..."

"What?" Ginny asked, curious as to the reason for his painful pause.

"Never you mind is what, Weasley!" he snarled, displeased with himself for having revealed so much to the red-haired Gryffindor. "You shouldn't be here, Weasley." He turned around to face her. "It's time for you to go."

At once, he began ushering her out towards the front entrance. Both confused and enraged, Ginny shoved his hands off her and spun around to face him.

"How am I to get out of here without being seen?" she asked, her eyes wild.

Draco was about to open his mouth to say that it wasn't his problem when he thought better of it. If any Slytherins were to see the redhead come out of his room, they would obviously suspect him of bedding the Gryffindor; on the same token, they would also assume that he had told her the location of the dormitories, which was an extreme Slytherin faux pas.

"Here," Draco growled, taking off his robes and throwing them to her. "Wear these."

She caught the robes and frowned. She walked back over to his bed and tossed his robes down, taking off her own and folding them neatly. She then picked up his robes and put them on, bringing the hood up to hide her face. The robes were obviously too big for her, so Draco pointed his wand at them and muttered a spell so that they would shrink to fit her.

"It's almost breakfast time, so you can follow whatever group you see leave the common room. They will lead you out of the dormitories to the Entrance Hall. Just don't talk to anyone."

Ginny glared at him from underneath the hood, a few of her red locks showing.

"Oh, and do put your hair back, Freckles," he ordered with an exasperated drawl. "There are not many Weasley-redheads running about in Slytherin."

Ginny flipped the hood back, tied her hair in a knot, and raised her hood once more. She looked down at her robes that were neatly folded on his bed. She did not want to leave them behind: they were her only pair besides from her dress robes.

Draco saw her glance down at her robes on his bed, and he rolled his eyes. "Only pair, Weasley?" he asked, not expecting a reply.

He went over to his dresser and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a black sack, the size of a medium purse, and handed it to her.

"Put your robes in here," he said gruffly, shoving the sack into her hands.

She cocked an eyebrow in doubt and confusion but finally complied and picked up her robes, shoving them inside. The purse remained flat.

_A bottomless sack_, she thought to herself with surprise. She wondered how Malfoy got a hold of such an item.

"Well, off you go then," he said, tapping his foot impatiently.

Ginny shouldered the sack and went to his door, opening it slightly. She peered out, waiting for some Slytherins, preferably first years, to exit the common room. A few minutes later, several younger girls, chattering loudly to one another, came out of the wall entrance. She waited a few seconds then strode out of his room, falling in line behind the girls who were oblivious to Ginny's presence behind them. Head down, she was able to easily follow them out of the dungeons and out of Malfoy's sight.

A few minutes later, Draco emerged from his room, fingering a golden coin in his hand as he took off towards the seventh floor.

**xXx**

Ginny made her way out of the Slytherin dormitories unnoticed and slipped into one of the girls' lavatories near the Great Hall. She took off the Slytherin robes and retrieved her Gryffindor ones out of the sack, quickly stuffing Malfoy's back inside and adorning her own. She was going to go into the Great Hall to grab breakfast when she decided it best not to since she did not fancy another round of wits with her brother and Harry. Instead, she made her way to Slughorn's office, intent on proposing the project that she had made up earlier to slake the Trio's curiosity. She also figured that it would be an easier way to obtain the DNA sample that she promised to do for Malfoy. With the project sanctioned by Slughorn, she could use the Potions room and its stock without interruption or repercussions.

When she finally arrived at Slughorn's office, several students were already waiting outside. Blaise Zabini and a tall black-haired girl—also Slytherin—sat in the corner. The pretty-looking black-haired girl looked over at Ginny and sneered. She leaned over and whispered something in Zabini's ear. He appeared to be put out by the whole ordeal and did not even bother to look in Ginny's direction, refusing to acknowledge her presence. Ginny rolled her eyes at this, thinking that she may have just imagined his earlier act of benignity.

The rustling of newspaper quickly distracted her from her thoughts, and she looked down to see a student in azure, bronze, and black robes. Her face was nestled between the second and third page of _The Quibbler_.

"Luna?"

"Ginny," Luna breathed, looking up from her paper. Her eyes were dreamy and distant.

The blonde brought the newspaper down onto her lap and sported a playful grin for the redhead. Ginny could not help but smile in return.

"It is so good to see you. Are you here about the Bicorns too?" Luna asked, her voice soft and airy.

"The Bicorns?" Ginny asked, confused, sitting down beside the petite Ravenclaw.

"Oh, yes." Luna sighed dramatically, beginning to fold her newspaper together. "Daddy just wrote an article on the endangered Bicorn. It's very sad, you know. There are only a few of them left," she explained woefully, her voice soft and reflective.

A small smile began to tug at Ginny's lips.

"I thought I would ask Professor Slughorn if he has noticed a shortage of Polyjuice Potion," Luna explained, nodding her head. "Or, at the very least, an increase in its retail value."

Ginny had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing aloud. Luna merely stared at Ginny with her dreamy eyes and a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Well, that's good," Ginny said, loving the quirkiness of the small blonde-haired Ravenclaw.

"I agree," Luna said, looking bemused. Then, as if waking from her previous thoughts, the blonde turned her attention to redhead and tilted her head to the side. "Why are you here to meet with Professor Slughorn?"

"I am here to talk to him about a potions paper that I am working on," Ginny explained, swallowing nervously.

"Oh?" Luna commented, curiosity overtaking her. "What is it on?"

"It's a proposal for a spell or potion that helps detect DNA," Ginny answered.

"DNA?" Luna asked, a bewildered frown setting on her face.

"Yes, it's what we are all made up of," Ginny explained. "It is found in our blood, our saliva, our skin, our hair, and all of our bodily fluids."

"Neat," Luna replied, the cheery grin fastened once more on her pretty face. "So you want to find a spell that will test someone's blood and identify who it belongs to?"

"Precisely!" Ginny replied, amazed.

For a girl who appeared to be out of it most of the time, inhabiting her own special world, Luna Lovegood was an extremely astute girl. Ginny supposed that there was a good reason for her being sorted into Ravenclaw.

"That sounds like a wonderful project." Luna sighed, smiling brightly. "Are you working on it by yourself?"

"No," Ginny answered, smiling nervously. "Draco Malfoy is assigned to work on it with me."

"Oh?" Luna peered around Ginny. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," the redhead admitted.

"Well, he's not very helpful then," the blonde said, with a blank expression on her face.

Luna's blunt honesty often made many people feel uncomfortable around her, except for Ginny, who appreciated and admired her candour.

"I will help you, if you like," Luna offered. "I like discovering new ways of performing magic and creating new spells and potions."

"Thank you, Luna," Ginny replied appreciatively, smiling brightly at the helpful girl.

"Look!" Luna pointed behind the redhead. "There's Neville," she said, waving at Neville Longbottom, who was shyly approaching the two girls. "Hi, Neville!"

"Hullo, Luna. Hullo, Ginny," the tall, lanky Gryffindor greeted, a nervous and bashful expression playing across his flushed face.

"What's going on, Neville?" Ginny asked, glad to see one of her best mates.

"I was looking for you, actually," he said to Ginny, swallowing hard. "I thought you might want some help studying for your Herbology O.W.L.s this term."

"Yes, of course. I would love that!" Ginny said, beaming at the older Gryffindor. "I just need to talk with Slughorn, and then I can meet you in the library after."

"Sounds good," Neville rejoined, smiling and nodding his head. "Are you coming too, Luna?"

"Sure!" Luna replied hastily. "I can ask Professor Slughorn about Bicorns later."

"Bicorns?" Neville asked, knitting his brow in confusion.

"Don't ask," Ginny whispered into the back of her hand.

Neville nodded his head as if in understanding but still looked utterly confused.

"Bye, Ginny! " Luna waved as she walked off with Neville.

Ginny waved back, smiling. She then arched a brow as she watched Luna wave in her direction once more but this time saw that the salutation was not intended for her but for Zabini, who was watching Luna depart with Neville. Ginny stared at the dark-haired boy, who merely looked past her then stood up with the other Slytherin when Slughorn finally opened his door and ushered them inside.

**xXx**

Several weeks had gone by, and it was now mid-October: the first trip of the term to Hogsmeade. Ginny hadn't noticed the time fly by so quickly. She and Luna had been working twice a week on her potions project, which Slughorn had eagerly endorsed. With Malfoy nowhere in sight, and not having talked to him for weeks, she would have to tell Slughorn that only Luna had helped her with the paper. Ginny had originally proposed that she and Malfoy work on the project together, to which Slughorn had quietly agreed that the older Slytherin would be able to proffer her some sound advice. He did not verbally question her wanting to pair up with the young Malfoy, but his eyes gave away his incertitude and curiosity. He did, however, give her full access of the Potions room and its inventory after class hours. Regardless of his concessions, she was only in the research stage of the project and was not yet ready to experiment.

Between regular schoolwork, studying for her Herbology O.W.L.s with Neville, and working intermittently on her self-appointed potions project, Ginny found no time at all to hang out with the Trio or have fun in general. So, it was a welcome relief when Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked into the library and sat down beside her and Luna.

"Hey, Ginny!" Hermione called cheerily. "Hi, Luna."

A few weeks ago, Hermione had been enthused to tell Ginny that Slughorn had formally invited her to join Slug Club to attend his soirées. That enthusiasm, however, had died down the moment Ron became petulant and tetchy over the fact that he was, yet again, looked over by Slughorn.

"Hey, 'Mione," Ginny greeted back.

"Hello, Hermione," Luna sang, and returned to her reading.

Harry and Ron had followed in behind the brainy brunette, laughing and elbowing each other in the ribs.

"What are they going on about?" Ginny asked the older Gryffindor.

"Oh," Hermione said, looking somewhat peevish. "They are laughing about another dodgy spell created by the Half-Blood Prince."

Both Ginny and Hermione glanced over at Ron and Harry and frowned.

"Oh, come off it, 'Mione! It was all in good fun. Just for a laugh," Ron whined.

Harry held out his palms in mock surrender. "It was an accident, Hermione," he offered. "I just thought about it when I was about to go to bed, and Ron just kind of...flipped into the air." He was grinning sheepishly.

"Yeah, 'Mione," Ron chimed in. "See, it wasn't some dodgy spell—it wasn't meant to hurt anyone. This one didn't have 'for enemies' written in brackets beside it." Ron stopped and thought about it for a second then glanced over at Harry with a somewhat apprehensive expression on his face. "It didn't, did it?"

"No!" Harry shouted defensively, laughing nervously. "No, it was just a non-verbal spell. Completely harmless."

Reassured, Ron seemed to brighten at this while both Hermione and Ginny crossed their arms over their chests and glared at the two boys.

"So," Harry said, trying to change the subject, "are you and Luna going to Hogsmeade?"

Luna, who had been barely paying attention to the conversation, looked over her shoulder at Harry. "I would love to get some red liquorice before the Nargles eat them all," she said softly, then returned once more to her work.

All four of them looked at Luna and smiled at each other knowingly.

"And you, Ginny, are you coming with us or with Dean?" Hermione asked as Ginny's expression soured.

"No, I'll come with you guys. Dean and I are over." Ginny had officially broken up with Dean a few days ago, and he had not taken it well.

"Oh?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.

The expression on his face was inscrutable; however, Ginny could detect the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Good riddance to him," Ron said triumphantly. "You're too young to be dating anyway."

"Listen, just because you can't get a date—"

Ginny stopped herself. She was not going to get into another row with her brother over dating. Normally, she was more than willing to point out what a foolish ponce he was, but today she just wanted to have fun. If Ronald could not keep his mouth shut, then she would just have to go to Hogsmeade with Luna and Neville. As Fate would have it, that is exactly what happened.

**xXx**

Draco paced about the Room of Requirement, tearing at his platinum-blond hair. He had been stupid to believe that the necklace could have been delivered safely to Dumbledore. He colourfully cursed the older Gryffindor, Katie Bell, who had touched the blasted thing, ruining one of his plans to get rid of the headmaster.

Draco sighed then sat down on a chair and bent over, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. He knew it wasn't a good plan. He knew that something would happen, that it would not get to Dumbledore. Perhaps he wanted the plan to fail. He certainly knew that he did not want his family to be tortured and killed because of his ineptitude, but, at the same time, he did not want to be a murderer. He was shocked at his own reaction of relief when he discovered that the Bell girl had lived and would be on the mend.

This was all over a month and a half ago, and he still had not come up with another plan to get rid of Dumbledore. He had one more trick up his sleeve, but he would not be able to put it into action until just before Christmas. Things would have been easier for him if he had he won the Felix Felicis Potion, but instead that blasted Potter had won it. He had no idea how the wanker was out-smarting him at Potions. It was true that he wasn't trying exceptionally hard this year, for obvious reasons, but he still got Es and Os in everything. He might have been Snape's favourite, but he still earned his O in Potions.

After a good hour of ranting and another hour working on the Vanishing Cabinet, Draco gave up and went back to his room. Exhausted, he collapsed onto his bed and fell fast asleep. He awoke with a start, clutching his head with both hands as a sharp pain ripped into his brain, disturbing him from his slumber.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed, still gripping his head tightly. _Some new-found torture then?_ He winced in pain.

First, there was the pressure of fulfilling the Dark Lord's plans; second, there were the annoyingly vivid dreams of Ginny Weasley; thirdly, there were these mind-crushing migraines. When was it all going to end?

Draco sat up in bed, folding back his sheets. He needed to get to his potions kit and mix up a soothing draught for his head. When his bare feet hit the cool, wooden floor, a great shock of pain shot up from his toes all the way up through his legs and torso, reaching his chest. He doubled over in pain, and his vision blurred. He could taste the bile that had begun to rise to the back of his throat, and he felt as though he was about to vomit.

"Draco?" a soft, feminine voice called out his name.

He looked up in shock, still clutching at his stomach in pain, to see Ginevra Weasley standing before him. She must have sneaked her way into his room again.

"Ginevra?" Draco asked, disturbed by the shakiness in his voice and the fact that he had called the Weasley girl by her first name.

"Are you alright?" she asked, putting a slender hand on his arm.

She was looking at him with such rapture and compassion that he could not help but smile through the pain; she smiled back. Soft ringlets caressed her cheeks as the rest of her hair was pinned back in a bun. She was dressed in a pink lace nightdress, cut short, just above her knees. He absently wondered how the girl managed to slip down into the dungeons without being seen.

"I need my potions kit," he replied, his smile disappearing as the pain returned to his head, no longer feeling nauseous.

He pointed to his dresser near the common room entrance, and Ginny nodded her head in acknowledgement. She took his hand and led him back to his bed, getting him to sit down. He complied, and she walked over to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer, rifling through his undergarments. He groaned at the image of her sorting through his pants. She finally found what she was looking for and walked back over to him with his potions kit in hand. Silently, she set it on his bedside cabinet and began to mix the appropriate ingredients together into an empty glass that was on the table.

"Here," she said after a moment, handing him a glowing-white potion. "This should help with your head." She smiled, seeming to read his mind to know what he needed.

Draco nodded his head and took the draught from her without question, draining the glass until it was empty. "Thank you," he choked out.

He felt the pain in his head begin to subside, and he sat up, relieved. He sighed and glanced up at the pretty, red-haired girl, who was smiling brightly before him.

"Draught of Peace?" he asked her.

"A combination of that and a headache potion my mother taught me," she explained, still smiling.

"So how did you know that I was in pain, Freckles?" Draco asked, the ghost of a grin beginning to form on his face.

"I didn't," she said, grinning back.

"Then why are you here?" he asked, confused as to why the girl was just standing there grinning foolishly at him. He was appreciative of her help, to say the least, but she was starting to make him feel rather uncomfortable.

"I need your help, Draco," she answered solemnly, the earlier smile removed from her face.

Before Draco could ask her what she needed help with, she reached out to him with her palms outstretched. There was a distinct and familiar mark on the inside of her left forearm. It was a jet-black tattoo of a skull with a snake protruding through its mouth.

"_Morsmordre_," she whispered, her eyes watering and her voice trembling. "He gave it to me too, Draco."

Draco stared at her in abject horror, watching her eyes glaze over in tears and terror.

"Ginevra!" Draco cried out, reaching forward to grab her wrists, locking eyes with her. "Who did this to you?" He already knew the answer.

"He did," she replied, releasing her left hand from his grip to point directly behind him.

Draco quickly turned his head around to see who was behind him. There was no one. Relieved, he turned back around to face her, still holding her left wrist in his hand.

"Ginevra, there's no—"

"Ginevra _lies_!" a white, almost translucent face hissed at Draco, its eyes red and full of venom.

"Lord Voldemort!" Draco cried, quickly releasing the Dark Lord's wrist.

"She's mine now!" Voldemort hissed again, striking at him like a snake.

**.oOo.**

"Ginevra!" Draco shouted hoarsely, and sat up with a start. He was drenched in sweat, gripping his bed sheets tightly. "Another bloody dream!"

He let out a string of expletives and groaned in pain. His muscles were sore and taut, and he felt both drained and instantly alert. He sat on his bed and tried to control his breathing, hoping to mentally slow the rapid beating of his heart.

_This bloody well has to stop!_ he screamed in his mind.

He could not take it any longer. This was the third night in a row that he had this dream, or a variation of it. The ones from the nights before were not exactly the same, but they all shared a common theme: Ginevra Weasley was in danger.

On the second night, he had fought the temptation to go check on the girl, to see if she was safe. When he briefly saw her in the Great Hall at breakfast the next day, he figured that she was fine, and it was all in his mind. It was stress over what he was trying to accomplish—stress, doubt, and guilt. This, however, was the last straw. He needed to get some sleep. Perhaps his guilt was weighing on him, and his conscience needed to be eased by checking up on the red-haired Gryffindor.

**xXx**

A soft rapping sound roused Ginny from her sleep, and she went over to her door and opened it. A feeling of déjà vu swept over her as she came face-to-face with a dishevelled-looking Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy?" she asked softly, appearing both curious and concerned.

The boy looked ruffled and alarmed. His eyes were red and bloodshot. His hair was tousled and stuck up in every which direction. It looked as though he had been in a fight with a pillow—and the pillow had soundly trounced him.

"Weasley—" Draco began then, oddly enough, corrected himself, "Ginevra, are you okay?"

Ginny opened her mouth in shock: first, because he had said her actual given name, and second, because he had sounded genuinely concerned for her health.

"Yes," she replied dumbly, opening her door wider, motioning for Draco to step inside.

He was obviously rattled, and there was no point in them having a conversation outside her room where either of them could be caught by Filch, a professor, or even worse, another Gryffindor.

Draco nodded his head somewhat apprehensively and stepped inside, perambulating about her room. She closed the door and watched him. He looked on edge. Suddenly, she began to question her decision to allow herself to be alone with the Slytherin.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

Draco shook his head and scanned the room for possible danger lurking nearby. He finally gave up his search and plopped down on the edge of her bed looking utterly defeated.

"I think I am going mad," he admitted, raking his fingers through his hair.

"I might have to agree," she rejoined softly, a wry grin etched on her face as sat down beside him.

Draco snorted at her facetious retort and wiped his clammy palms on his robes. "I-I have been having these dreams," he stated hesitantly. "This is the third night I've had them. They all involve you." He looked down at his hands. "You were in danger."

Ginny frowned and folded her hands on her lap. "Did they involve Voldemort?" she asked quietly, and he nodded his head in affirmation. "Did I ask you to help me, to save me?"

"Yes," Draco breathed, looking up at her in surprise. "How did you—"

"I have had them too," she said, interrupting, "but they were you coming to me, asking me to save you. You showed me the Mark."

Draco stiffened and unconsciously brought his left hand to his left forearm, trying to conceal the Mark that was already hidden underneath the sleeve of his robes.

"That was what I was dreaming about when you found me in your room several months ago," she explained, not having noticed his reaction to her mention of the Dark Mark.

"Have you had them since?" he asked.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I still have my regular nightmares about Tom, but I haven't had the ones with you in them since that night."

"Then why am I—" Draco stopped, appearing extremely agitated. "Never mind," he said, getting up from her bed. "I apologise for coming here so late and unannounced."

Ginny smiled at his polite platitudes. They were humorous in situations like theirs. "It's fine, Malfoy—I mean, Draco," she replied, correcting herself.

They both smiled weakly at one another. Ginny rose from the bed and escorted him to the door, opening it for him. As he stepped past the threshold, he turned around to look at her.

"Sleep well, Ginevra."

"You too, Draco."

**xXx**

The next day was not as eventful for Ginny as it had been the previous night. An unexpected social call from the uncharacteristically concerned and polite Malfoy was a welcomed rare occasion in contrast to the months that had preceded her last visit with the blond. Sure, Gryffindor had won the Quidditch match against Slytherin, but they had done it without their best Chaser, Katie Bell. Even Malfoy was absent from his position as Seeker, claiming to be ill. And by the looks of him last night, Ginny would have to agree that grey-eyed boy did look a might peaky and worn.

After the match, Ginny and others had caught her brother, Ron, the hypocrite, chewing the face off Lavender Brown. Ginny was furious with him, knowing that Hermione was incredibly hurt by his displays. Any idiot could see that Hermione liked Ron. Why couldn't he?

Harry had lingered behind her, seemingly wanting to ask her something. Instead of staying around to chat, however, Ginny had made off toward the refreshments. She had decided to avoid him since she suspected that he had wanted to invite her to Slughorn's Christmas party as she was no longer with Dean. Luckily, Harry could not gather the courage to ask her, so he eventually asked Luna, which she thought was extremely sweet of him. Hermione had decided to go with Cormac McLaggen, to get even with Ron for his 'romantic' display with Lavender.

Ginny wanted to avoid the party altogether. Harry had been paying an awful lot of attention to her lately, which made her feel somewhat uncomfortable. Normally, she would have adored the nervous glances and the shy smiles that she received from him as of late, but after all of those strange dreams involving Malfoy and the unanticipated visit from him last night, Ginny found her attention, for good or for bad, diverting from Harry to Draco.

With such thoughts dominating her mind, Ginny languidly entered the library and spotted Luna sitting on one of the lounges. She plopped down next to the blonde and smiled. The blue-eyed Ravenclaw returned her smile and handed her a book titled _Potions and Anatomy. _

"This will help us discover which potions work best with certain parts of the anatomy," Luna explained airily, adjusting her radish earrings. "Once we find a common ingredient used for the epidermis, hair, blood, and other bodily fluids, we can begin looking up the different spells and potions used for revealing sources and then cross-reference them."

Ginny grinned and nodded at Luna. While Ginny was very adept at Potions, Luna offered a much needed academic quality, something akin to what Hermione could provide. Hermione was much better than the two of them at researching, but Luna was fantastic at offering different perspectives and proffering new and unique ways of revisiting orthodox theories.

"Excellent," Ginny replied. "The gestation for the paternity potion is complete. Thank Merlin it doesn't take as long as Polyjuice Potion."

"Polyjuice Potion is too precious to make now that Bicorns are entering extinction," Luna commented, bringing a quill to her lips. "So, do you want to combine this potion with the one we are developing now?"

Ginny nodded her head. "I was thinking if not combining the potion, we could at least draw from its base to conclude our own theory," she explained, lifting her palms. "What we really need to do is study what the paternity potion lacks in order to discern a proper DNA discovery spell."

Luna, who had her face buried in a book titled _Revealing Spells and Their Uses_, nodded her head in agreement.

After jotting down a few notes of her own, Ginny sat back and stretched. They had been at the project for weeks. They were getting closer to an answer, but it still felt like they were pushing a rock up a hill.  
"Are you all ready for the party tomorrow night?" Ginny asked Luna, changing the subject.

"Oh, yes, I am very excited," Luna answered, looking up from her book with a delighted smile on her face. "I have a set of silver spangled robes that I am going to wear. I hope they don't clash with Harry's robes."

"I'm sure they won't, Luna," Ginny reassured, offering her quirky friend an amused grin.

"And who are _you_ going with, Miss Weasley?" a charming and sultry voice asked from behind.

"Zabini!" Ginny gasped, jumping in her seat.

"_Me_? How delightful, Weasley," the dark-haired boy purred, grinning at the redhead as he sat down on one of the chairs next to her and Luna. "I had planned on attending alone, but since you insist..."

Blaise winked at Ginny then crossed his legs in a manly fashion, placing his hands on his lap as he quietly observed the two girls.

"You wish," Ginny growled, annoyed at how easily this Slytherin boy could sneak up on her.

"You have no idea what _my_ wishes are, Weasley," he replied suggestively, flashing her a wide smile.

"What do you want, Zabini?" Ginny asked, frustrated with the battle of wits he was attempting to draw her into.

"I overheard the two of you," he stated, gesturing to both Ginny and Luna, "discussing some Potions paper that you are working on for Slughorn." His eyes scintillated with genuine curiosity.

"Yes, so what of it?" she snapped.

Blaise smiled even wider at her impatience, taking enjoyment from it. "Well, I also heard that you are working on this project with my good mate and every girl's heartthrob, one Mister Draco Malfoy."

Ginny stared at him blankly.

Blaise, in turn, looked down at his well-manicured nails. "I think that if you are going to attach Draco's name to something, he should be a willing participant in the project, don't you?" he asked, looking up, his honey-coloured eyes hardening. "A Gryffindor expressing a desire to work with a Slytherin seems rather fishy, and one might wonder the motive behind such an act. Perhaps you are planning to botch the whole experiment and place full blame on our poor, unsuspecting Draco." Blaise gave Ginny a mock look of concern and frowned all-too-convincingly.

"You know full well that that is not my intent!" Ginny shouted indignantly, glowering at the cunning Slytherin.

"I'm afraid that I do not know what you intentions are and neither does my good friend, Draco," he retorted, looking at her with the devil of a smirk forming on his lips.

"Out with it then!" she cried, deeply annoyed. "What do you want?"

Blaise's smirk didn't leave his face. "I would like to participate in this venture—monitor it, if you will."

"Did _he_ put you up to this?" Ginny asked, looking askance at the darkly handsome Slytherin.

Blaise knew who 'he' was but failed to answer her. Instead, he only stared at her until she gave in. Finally, she did.

"Okay, fine!" she growled, throwing her hands up in the air. "You can 'observe' while we work on it then report back to the paranoid git!"

"Excellent," Blaise said, smiling as he got up. "No need to tell me when you both will be working on the project. I will keep my eyes and my ears open." He smiled graciously and inclined his head towards them. "Ladies."

"That was odd," Luna commented, a dreamy look plastered on her face as she watched the golden-eyed boy leave.

Ginny glanced over at Luna, momentarily forgetting her ire over Zabini's audacity, and recalled an old adage about a pot and a kettle. She then swiftly stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle the inevitable laughter.

"That was odd," Pansy Parkinson commented from the other side of the library, elbowing Draco in his ribs.

"Very," Draco replied, his voice cold and emotionless. He watched as Blaise left the Weasley girl's table that she was sharing with Loony Lovegood from Ravenclaw.

"I have heard him remark on how pretty he thinks the Weasley girl is," Pansy said disapprovingly, waking something more than curiosity inside Draco, "but I never suspected that he would stoop to conversing with the little blood traitor."

Draco raised an eyebrow at this and frowned, recalling an earlier conversation taking place in their train compartment on their way into Hogwarts, at the beginning of the term.

"Pretty, huh?" he asked, gazing at Ginny, who was staring at the Loony girl like she was starkers, which, in all honesty, she truly was.

"Yes, can you believe it?" Pansy snorted. "She's not ugly, obviously, but I don't know how he can see past the Weasley red hair."

Draco grunted in response and continued to stare at the redhead, who was now laughing and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You think he fancies her?" he asked cautiously, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Draco wasn't sure why, but the thought of Blaise liking Ginny made him livid and literally sick to his stomach. Perhaps it was because she was a blood traitor, of lower class, and poor. Inwardly, though, he knew that these were not the real reasons. What he believed was a feeling of revulsion turned out to be something altogether different—a feeling that was both foreign and terrifying.

Pansy snorted, waking Draco from his brooding meditations. Apparently, she had been talking the whole while, and he had failed to pay attention (not altogether unusual).

"—Come on! Blaise? Never!" she cried, snorting once more.

"No, never," he agreed slowly, a scowl lingering on his handsome face. He sat up, unable to focus on the homework that he was most likely not going to finish. "Can you get someone to finish this for me?" He barely looked at the brunette as he got up to leave.

Pansy opened her mouth, about to ask Draco where he was going but thought it best not to. She had an inclination of what Draco was up to, but she had no idea why he wasn't letting her or Blaise or even Crabbe and Goyle in on his plans, to allow them to assist him. In fact, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be out of the circle entirely as she had not seen the two around the grey-eyed Slytherin for quite some time. In their stead were a couple of first-year girls, who followed Draco around like lost puppies.

"Sure," she replied.

Draco nodded his head and turned to walk out of the library, refusing to look back and take one last glance at the pretty, red-haired girl who seemed to invade his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night.

**xXx**

Draco finally retired to bed, exhausted, after spending gruelling hours in the Room of Requirement. His head barely hit the pillow before he fell fast asleep and entered the world of dreams. This time he was conscious that he was dreaming. It was as though he was observing the whole scene unfold like a movie from behind a screen. He watched as Ginny approached him bleeding, pale, and trembling. She was begging him to save her like she did every night in his dreams for the past four nights.

"You have to help me, Draco," she cried, shaking.

"How?" he asked in unison with the Draco in his dream.

"Keep me safe," she whispered, looking directly at _him_ now—Draco the Observer. "Keep me close."

"Yes, keep her safe, Draco," a voice whispered coolly behind his ear.

Draco jumped and turned around as a pale hand reached out to grab his mouth, digging its long fingers into his sculpted cheekbones.

"You can't protect her," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes gleaming. "You are too _weak_!"

Draco awoke immediately. His eyes narrowed in anger and frustration. Now his dreams were actually taunting him. It was time to end all this nonsense. It was time to do what his dreams told him to do. Maybe if he did that, the nightmares would stop.

**xXx**

Ginny heard the knocking and walked over to the portrait, knowing exactly who was rapping on her door so late at night.

"Malfoy," she greeted expectantly.

Draco strode into the room, uninvited, and turned around to face her. He looked tired and gaunt, but he also looked determined.

"Get the robes I gave you and put them on," he demanded. "You're coming with me."

"Oh, am I now?" she asked, placing one hand on her hip while the other rested against the frame of the portrait door.

"No time to argue about this. Just do what I say," he commanded.

Ginny let go of the door, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at him. "It will be a cold day in Hell before I ever do what _you_ say, Malfoy," she retorted, her voice as cold as ice.

Draco growled at her obstinate behaviour and looked about the room. He found what he was looking for and strode over to her armoire to open it. Shocked and appalled, Ginny rushed over to stop him from going through her clothes when he pulled out the pair of Slytherin robes that he had given her several months ago.

"Put this on," he growled through gritted teeth, handing her the robes.

"Why should I—?" she began, but he cut her off, bringing his face down just inches away from hers.

"This is the only way I know how to save you," he explained, anger and frustration reflecting in his steel-grey eyes.

"Save me?" she asked incredulously.

"These dreams I have been having," he explained to her with a hint of desperation in his voice, "they all point towards the same idea: I need to keep you close to me, to keep you safe, or you'll be hurt..." He paused and raked his fingers through his hair then added shakily, "by Voldemort."

"I..." Ginny's voice trailed off in confusion, not knowing what to think of this whole ordeal or how to react to it.

"Please, Ginevra," Draco pleaded for the first time in his life.

He stepped towards her and took a hold of her arms gently as he bent down, leaning his face towards hers. He captured her lips with his own and passionately took her into a deep and sensual kiss. When he reluctantly broke it off, he stepped away from her, watching her eyes flutter open; her mouth was still parted and swollen.

"This is real," he whispered, still holding her arms. "Please believe me."

Ginny blinked and looked down at the Slytherin robes that she held loosely in her hands. She nodded her head and reluctantly made to put them on as he let go of her arms, helping her pull the garments close around her, lowering the hood. He opened the door and took her hand, cautiously leading them out of the Gryffindor Tower towards the Slytherin dormitories. With each step he took, Draco felt an immense amount of pressure being lifted from his chest and leave his body as he held her small hand in his own.

**xXx**


	9. Revelations

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One: Prelude

_Chapter Nine: Revelations_

Draco swiftly and mutely led Ginny down the stairs of the Entrance Hall towards the Slytherin dormitories. The surreality of their escape into the night had finally begun to sink in and take hold of the defiant Gryffindor. She knew not why she had permitted Draco to take her from her room, only that she did. It was a faith unfounded, a trust untested. Here with him, she felt only security and comfort—the feeling of being cocooned in warm, downy blankets. She trusted him implicitly, and that frightened her more than she could ever bring herself to admit.

As they rounded the corner towards the common room entrance, they chanced an encounter with Blaise Zabini, who was unabashedly flirting with a giggling and vacuous-looking blonde-haired Slytherin. Blaise watched them approach, recognising Draco straight off. His attention quickly diverted to Ginny, whose face was hidden underneath the hood.

She could sense his golden eyes penetrating through the rich fabrics of her makeshift Slytherin robes and was worried that he might recognise her from her height alone. His eyes travelled down to their hands and lingered there, staring intently at their entwined fingers. He looked as though he was about to open his mouth to comment on the display in front of him when Draco's grip on her hand tightened almost possessively, yanking her forward as he hastily steered her away from the dark Slytherin and towards his own room.

When they entered his quarters from his private entrance, Draco closed the door behind them and let go of her hand to lower his hood. She followed suit and looked about his room, anxiously pursing her lips together in a vain attempt to grasp the reality of the situation at hand. She rubbed her hands together nervously, frowning when she noted the absence of his hand in hers. It had almost felt natural. Draco then cleared his throat, and she glanced up at his face. He appeared composed; however, his eyes belied his stoic façade, giving hint to anxiety and self-doubt. If she did not know any better, Ginny would have surmised that Draco Malfoy was nervous.

"Would you care to take off your robes?" he asked, as though it were a formality.

He took a step towards her and held out his hands. She nodded dumbly and turned around, allowing him to help her with her robes. As his fingers made contact with the bare skin of her shoulders, she shivered, feeling goosebumps form on her tender flesh. His hands roamed further down her arms, and she felt his touch run through her like an electrical current. Her body reacted in more ways than one as the chest of her pyjama top became constricted with sensitive skin rubbing harshly against the cotton fabric.

Draco noted her reaction as he stood towering above her, directing his gaze downward at her nubile form. He was acutely and painfully aware that she was not wearing a bra. He felt her warm, soft skin react to his touch, and he drew in a breath of air, sliding his fingers all the way down her arms to take off her robes. He resisted the urge to press his hardness against her back and lean down to kiss her freckled shoulders. He had to remind himself that she was a Weasley. So, he took a step back and swallowed hard, turning around to put her robes inside his armoire, hoping to walk off his aching arousal. With his back to her, he took another deep breath and began to disrobe, hanging both their articles of clothing inside the cabinet door. He then turned around and slowly began to unbutton his shirt as he walked towards her.

He saw her eyes follow his every movement. He began with his collar, undoing every button until he reached the last and then began to work on his cuffs. Slowly and deliberately, he let his shirt slide down and off his arms, revealing an almost flawless ivory-toned chest. Only an exceptionally long and thin white scar marred his perfect frame, tracing along his right pectoral to his right bicep. On his left forearm was a black leather bracer, embossed with the image of a silver dragon. He noted, with amusement, as her eyes wandered from his toned arms and smooth chest down to his wonderfully sculpted abdomen. He really was an Adonis.

Draco's eyes, in turn, trailed down her small frame to her muscular yet slender legs that stretched out of her pyjama shorts. His gaze ran down to her exceptionally toned calves and stopped at her tiny sock-less feet, which were pointed inward in a childish manner, and he smirked. There was not one freckle on her perfectly pale legs. Perhaps he would have to take back the nickname, unless she had freckles hidden elsewhere on her body to show him.

She blushed and bit her lip, absently hooking her thumbs into the waist of her shorts and inadvertently pulling them down. Draco stood still with his shirt in hand and carelessly tossed it into his hamper. He slowly licked his top lip as he followed her hands, thinking about touching and tasting the sensitive flesh that her thumbs unabashedly made contact with. He no longer cared that she was a Weasley. No, she was an attractive, half-naked vixen, and she was in his room.

He reached her in several long strides and stood before her, his chest illuminated by the enchanted moonlight. He raised his hand to touch her shoulder, caressing it with the softness of his smooth, wide palm. He looked down into her startled doe eyes and smiled, a genuine smile, and she could not help but return it.

"You will have to share my bed tonight," he announced huskily, squeezing her shoulder gently as he silently admired her form.

"Okay," she whispered back, lost in the depths of his silver eyes.

Draco openly chuckled at her meekness. It was not a cruel laugh; it was soft and light-hearted. He knew how much of a firecracker this little Gryffindor normally was.

He then brought his other hand down onto her opposite shoulder and hooked both of his thumbs under the spaghetti straps of her tank top. He slowly began to slide the thin, string-like material down, enjoying the now enhanced view of her cleavage. His grin turned ravenous when he observed how her thin top mercilessly chafed against her taut and erogenous skin. Without thinking, he bent down and planted a soft, wet kiss on the sensitive spot of her collarbone, causing her to shudder against him.

He felt her hard nubs stiffen against his naked chest through the fabric of her top, and he moaned against her collarbone. Biting down on her collar, he aroused a sharp gasp from her mouth against his ear. He then moved his lips to her neck and began to kiss upward, lost in the mewling sounds of her pleasure, kneading her skin with his lips and teeth, tracing his tongue along her jaw line until their lips met. Unable to resist any longer, Draco seized her lips, starving for her kiss. He assaulted her mouth relentlessly, invading it.

Ginny responded with equal vigour, throwing her body into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck as she clung to him. She greedily stole his kisses, pausing only to breathe and occasionally nip at his jaw and bottom lip with sharp teeth. Draco responded in kind then picked her up in his strong arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist, tangling her fingers in his hair. She let out a velvety purr as he cupped her arse with both hands and began to grind against her, assuaging his need against her inner thigh.

"This isn't a dream," he said to her between breaths.

"I don't care," she moaned back, directing her mouth back to his.

Draco continued assailing her body with his lips as he carried her towards his bed. He threw her down onto it and stood back, watching her breathe heavily, her chest rising and falling. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire, and her lips were parted and swollen in anticipation. He was trying to catch his breath, trying to slow himself down. He had almost no control when he was around her. He wanted to conquer and consume. But it was more than lust; it was a need to be inside her, to take a part of her for himself, to claim her as his own.

She reached up with her tiny hands and grabbed the waist of his trousers, tugging him forward and eliciting a feral growl from his lips. Something hard and wet glided along her fingertips, aching to be unleashed. Deftly undoing his pants, she helped him slide them off as she got onto her knees on the bed in front of him.

Clad only in his boxers, Draco reached out and ran his hand lightly along the front of her top, causing her to cry out as his touch. He lightly pinched a teat with forefinger and thumb, evoking louder cries of arousal as her mouth opened wide in sheer bliss. He then knelt onto the bed and stuck his thumb in her mouth, watching her suck on it greedily. He closed his eyes in ecstasy then opened them, taking his thumb out of her mouth and replacing it with his tongue, tasting her lips once more.

"Draco," she moaned in between kisses.

Suddenly, he stopped and drew back, shocked by the intimate way in which she moaned his name. This was not some tawdry fling, not some random girl he was taking to bed. This was Ginevra Weasley: a Gryffindor, a blood traitor, and the girlfriend of Harry Potter. The thought made him feel both sick and excited at once. What in Merlin's name was wrong with him?

Draco could no longer deny his attraction to Ginny. Against all reason, logic, and decorum, he was completely obsessed with her. They shared an undeniable physical attraction, a magnetism that went beyond sex; he felt connected to her somehow. Maybe it was all of the dreams that they had both been sharing. He did not know. All he knew was that as much as he wanted to consummate the act—tonight—it was wrong. It wasn't because of her name; it was because of what she was beginning to mean to him.

"We should try to get some sleep," he announced abruptly, sounding awkward as he raised himself up.

Ginny's eyes shot open, and she peered up at him with a look of bewilderment and disappointment. "What?"

"It's late," he replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

He folded back the covers of the bed, allowing for them to both get underneath. Unsure of what was going on, she obliged and slipped under the sheets, staring incredulously at the grey-eyed blond.

"Goodnight, Weasley," he said quietly and uncomfortably, turning over on his side and desperately trying to will himself to sleep.

Ginny frowned at his back then turned over onto hers. "I see," she said, staring up at the ceiling. "I am not attractive enough for you then, is it?" She sounded both cold and hurt.

She dramatically rolled over onto her side with her back to the now confused Draco, curling up in a ball as she bit her lip, trying very hard not to cry or be insulted by his lack of interest.

"I mean, I am not as pretty as the other girls you've been with, Malfoy. Am I right? I'm just an ugly, ruddy, Weasley to you," she spat, her voice hiccupping.

"Weasley," Draco began, turning over to face her back, "what makes you think that you are less pretty than _any_ other girl in this school?"

Obstinately, Ginny kept her back to him. She would not be convinced.

"Yes, you are a Weasley." He sighed and moved in close behind her, putting a hand on her cold shoulder. "And I will admit that is a strike against you," he whispered against her ear, smiling. "And try as I might to use that as an excuse to _not_ be attracted to you, it has failed miserably."

"Hmph!" she pouted, sounding unconvinced, as she shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

"You don't believe me then?" he asked, reaching around to grab her hand. He brought it back behind her and placed it on the crotch of his boxers. "Feel what you do to me."

Ginny gasped, feeling his hardness swell at her touch, and turned her head to face him.

"Weasley—" he began seriously, and then corrected himself, "Ginevra, I have never been as instantly and as deeply attracted to a woman as I am to you."

She looked into his soft grey eyes and saw the sincerity.

"At the same time, I do not want to rush this. I am not sure what _this_ is—what it means to either of us."

Draco paused, and his eyes hardened. He could not believe that he was conveying his thoughts and feelings to the Weasley girl. Perhaps this is what a crush was. Maybe this _was_ infatuation. Draco had never experienced either feeling. He was not looking for something special and intimate to share with the girl, but, oddly enough, he did not want to use her either. He held her in esteem—unspoken, of course. They may not like each other's politics, attitudes, or friends, but they respected one another. Plus, he needed her to find out about their connection with these annoying dreams.

"But if you really want to have a go, Freckles," he said, grinning, attempting to lighten the mood.

He grabbed her waist and brought her back into him. He figured he could let go for one night. Not everything in life needed to be endlessly questioned and analysed. And try as she might to struggle against him, she finally relented, laughing and swatting at him playfully.

"In your dreams, Ferret!"

She giggled and stopped wrestling once she felt him wrap his left arm around her waist and his right nestled under her neck. He drew her in close to him and rested his chin between her shoulder and neck.

"Maybe tonight, Freckles. Maybe tonight."

**xXx**

The next day, they both awoke in the same position they fell asleep in: Ginny snugly held in Draco's embrace. She sat up, stretching, and smiled down at the still-sleeping Slytherin. His fine blond hair hung in his eyes, making him look like a slumbering angel. She silently admired his angelic features and brought her fingers to his smooth brow, brushing his hair away from his eyes. At her touch, his brow began to crease, and his lips pursed.

"Is this a dream?" he croaked, opening an eye to look up at her with.

"No," she replied, closing one of her eyes in return as she looked down at him. "It's morning."

Draco opened both eyes and sat up, shaking his head as though he could shake the sleep out of him. "No dreams then," he said, yawning loudly. He glanced over at her and smiled ruefully; it was a boyish smile, handsome and inviting. "I should have you sleep over every night."

"Hmm, well, not tonight," she retorted, smiling back, as she got out of his bed and stretched.

"No?"

"It's Slughorn's party tonight," Ginny replied, heading over to Draco's armoire to retrieve her robes.

Neither one of them had noticed the familiarity that they were beginning to have with one another—the way she instinctively grabbed her things from inside his armoire without asking, and the fact that he did not mind her going through his possessions. This was something he never tolerated from anyone else, including his parents. Oddly, he didn't think it rude or invasive at all when she rifled through his belongings.

"Oh, that," Draco said, sounding petulant and grumpy, punching his pillow in childish anger.

"Yeah, I don't really want to go, but—"

"Potter will be there as your date then?" Draco asked mockingly as he got out of bed, glaring at the redhead.

"No." Ginny glowered at the blond as she put on her Slytherin robes. "He will be going with Luna, and that is who I care about seeing at the party. I don't want her to feel alone."

"He's taking Loony?" Draco asked, sounding somewhat comforted by this as he walked past Ginny on his way to his dresser.

The Gryffindor made a face at him for calling Luna 'Loony', but Draco ignored it as he pulled out a clean pair of slacks.

"Why didn't he ask you?" he asked, pulling on his trousers.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders and lifted up her hood.

"Disappointed?" he asked, smirking.

"Hardly," she answered, turning towards him. "He wanted to ask me, but I avoided him."

Draco cocked an eyebrow sceptically at this.

"I told you," she said, exasperated. "I do not like Harry like _that_ any more."

"So who do you like then, Freckles?" he purred. His sullen look having turned playful.

"I will talk to you later," she said flatly, rolling her eyes at the smirking blond as she left the room.

Once Ginny rounded the corner towards the stairs to the Entrance Hall, she felt a hand close around her arm and pull her into a dark alcove.

"You are a bold Gryffindor, Miss Weasley," Blaise Zabini whispered.

Before Ginny could reply, Blaise put his hand over her mouth and drew her back even further into the niche with him. Just then, Pansy Parkinson came around the corner with a gaggle of Slytherin girls. The vacuous brunette was talking to the girls about Blaise having a crush on Ginny Weasley. The girls carried on, squealing in disgust, as they went up the stairs towards the Great Hall.

"Saved you again," he announced, smiling, as he let go of her mouth.

Ginny turned around to glare at the svelte Slytherin, who appeared apathetic with and unaffected by the overheard conversation.

"I think you owe me this time, Weasley," he said, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. "What say you be my date for Slug's party?"

Ginny baulked at the idea. "What do I owe you?" she asked, stunned by his audacity.

"Well, I saved you from Pansy—twice," he replied. "And if you go with me, I promise not to tell anyone that you spend your nights with Draco."

Ginny visibly paled. "You wouldn't!"

"No, I wouldn't, _if_ you went to the party with me." His smile was both charming and cruel.

Ginny growled. How did this boy keep managing to trick her into doing what he wanted? He truly was the most cunning Slytherin of them all, even more so than Draco.

"Why?"

"Why not?" he retorted. He stepped towards her, making her back out from behind the alcove onto the stairs. "Perhaps what Parkinson said is correct. Maybe I do have a crush on you, Weasley."

He reached a hand out to touch her, and she slapped it away. Furious, she tore up the stairs, leaving Blaise behind with a devil of a smirk playing on his lips. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed to himself as he turned around to begin his descent down the stairs. As he did so, he came face-to-face with a devastatingly fierce and ferocious-looking Malfoy.

"Draco," Blaise said, greeting the fellow Slytherin, his smile not once faltering.

"Zabini," Draco returned coldly. His teeth were clenched in seething anger.

Blaise made to go past Draco, but the stormy-looking blond had blocked his passage with his slender yet unyielding body.

"What did you say to her?" Draco asked calmly, almost _too_ calmly.

"Who?" Blaise asked, grinning. "The Weasley girl you like to hide in your room every so often?"

"What did you say to her?" Draco repeated the question, his eyes growing cold.

"I asked her to attend Slughorn's party with me," Blaise replied, still smiling, unflinching.

"Why?" Draco asked flatly, his voice laced with ice and venom, to match the look in his eyes.

"Why not?" Blaise countered with a charming drawl. "You're the one who started this, mate. Remember?" He folded his arms across his broad chest. "It's all about sticking it to Potter. I thought I'd get a little fun out of it too." He offered the blond a devilish smirk. "You don't mind, right?"

"I do."

"You do, what?" Blaise asked, now looking mildly confused.

"_Mind_," Draco clarified. "I mind quite a lot, actually." He narrowed his eyes on the taller Slytherin. "Currently, she is _my_ toy to play with. Understand?"

Blaise simply stared at Draco, unable to formulate a reply that would not warrant a nasty rebuke from the blond-haired boy. Draco, in turn, seemed satisfied with Blaise's silence and stepped to the side to allow him to pass. The dark-haired Slytherin cautiously went around him but turned his head back when Draco cleared his throat.

"Oh, and Zabini," Draco added menacingly, disheartening the ordinarily unflappable golden-eyed Blaise, "I don't share well. Got it?"

"Got it."

**xXx**

Against her own volition, Ginny had spent the entire day getting ready for Slughorn's party. Hermione had it into her head that the both of them needed to try on numerous dresses in the redhead's room. After donning her third outfit, and Hermione her sixth, Ginny finally gave up and headed to the party by herself.

Slughorn greeted the redhead the moment she arrived at his office and introduced her to several of his guests, including a vampire and two members of the Weird Sisters. After a few desultory exchanges of pleasantries, Ginny awkwardly disengaged herself from the especially ravenous-looking vampire and made her way over to the refreshment table to grab herself a butterbeer.

Hermione and Cormac had finally come down, and Ginny shook her head, grinning, as she witnessed McLaggen attempt to grope Hermione at every opportunity. After a few minutes of watching the awkward run-and-hide routine performed by the frightened brunette, Ginny went over to the food table to collect a ham on rye sandwich.

"You didn't allow me to pick you up for our date," Blaise whispered teasingly in her ear, as he came up behind her.

Ginny tensed up and let out an irritated sigh, setting down her empty glass and forgoing the sandwich. "Zabini, would you just piss off with the annoying stalker routine?"

She turned around, expecting to see the handsome git smirking at her loss of temper, but instead he was scowling at her, looking offended.

"All I have been trying to do, _Weasley_, is make do with our situation at hand," he explained in a cold and even tone. "We're both forced into the same difficult position: to socialise with each other at this party. I didn't realise that talking to you was considered stalking."

Ginny frowned. "You are not just trying to play nice, Zabini," she reasoned, unwilling to be fooled by the suave Slytherin. "You are angling for something. Why else would you threaten to tell others about me in Malfoy's room?"

Blaise openly laughed at her. It was a bitter and condescending laugh. "And you thought I would actually follow through with that?" he asked mockingly. "Seriously, Weasley, you think I want to have Draco as an enemy? I have better things to do than get involved in your silly teenage drama."

"_Teenage drama_?" Ginny all but shrieked, as she grabbed another butterbeer and swigged it down in one large gulp. This boy was truly gifted at goading her. "At least I am not some spoilt, conceited bastard like you and every other Slytherin in this school!"

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Manners must not be enforced in the Gryffindor House," he commented, watching the redhead choke on her own words. "So, I'm spoilt and conceited because I like to have a little bit of fun and make light of situations likes these?" She stared at him dumbly. "Not everything in this world is so black and white as you Gryffindors so religiously paint it to be."

"But you—"

"I _what_, Weasley?" He rounded on her, showing her anger for the first time. "I tease you, I flirt with you? How scandalous! How _evil_ of me," he said, clutching his drink close to his chest with one hand while he waved his other off to the side. "Better go fetch Potter right quick, I _must_ be a Death Eater."

He watched as Ginny opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, a little act she did when she came down with foot-in-mouth disease.

"You know," he added almost wistfully, his voice softening but not losing its superior tone, "I just thought you were a pretty, intelligent, fun girl to talk to. I guess I was wrong on the latter two accounts."

He shook his head at her as though he was chastising a child who had just had a tantrum in his presence. He then turned his back to her and began walking over to his previous spot along the side of the wall.

Ginny frowned, watching him leave. "Wait, Zabini!" she called out after him, finally gaining her voice back.

"Save it, She-Weasel," he pressed. "We're done."

"No, please, wait," she begged weakly, tentatively reaching out to touch his arm.

He turned around and glanced down disapprovingly at her hand that lay innocently on his forearm. She quickly withdrew her hand and fumbled with her fingers.

"I..." she began weakly, then lifted her chin to met his gaze with a defiant glare. "I am sorry that I thought the worst of you."

Blaise shook his head and laughed. She had just given him one of those _I'm-not-really-sorry-but-I-will-say-it-just-because-you-are-making-me-feel-extremely-guilty-right-now_ looks.

"No need to be sorry, Weasley," he drawled, somewhat amused by her obstinate refusal to admit that she was in the wrong. "I would assume the same, actually." He smirked. "That is a very Slytherin trait you have there: assume the worst of everyone."

Ginny frowned at the backhanded insult, but he was right. She had been quite bigoted in her effrontery. "Yes, well, you have actually tried to be cordial and helpful," she said, finally admitting defeat. "I should not have jumped on you so."

She looked up to see him grinning, about to pounce on her suggestive innuendo.

She rolled her eyes and pointed a finger at him. "I still don't trust you though!" she said in a feigned huff, placing her empty glass down on the table so that she could grab a full one.

"As you shouldn't," he agreed, nodding his head.

Ginny grinned, her mood brightened by their talk and the alcohol. "You were right though," she admitted, draining her glass. "This _is_ a party, and we are both unwilling members of Slug Club. We might as well make the best of it, nay?" She tipped her empty glass to him.

"Exactly," he replied, handing her yet another drink. "We shall never speak of this again nor divulge one word of this conversation to any of our mates. We both have our names and reputations to uphold." He then glanced down and saw her sucking back her fourth butterbeer in the last five minutes. "Not that your name could get any more sullied than what it already is..."

"You incorrigible git!" Ginny cried, laughing, as she swatted his arm with her free hand.

"Oh, come off it, Weasley!" he exclaimed, trying to sound indignant but failed as a cheeky grin spread across his handsome face. "You love it, just admit it. You seem to have an insatiable appetite for us spoiled, conceited Slytherin bastards—as you so lovingly label us."

Blaise was now curled up in the corner against the wall, trying very hard to protect his head and groin region from the plucky Weasley, who was beginning to playfully rail on him with her little fists.

"Well you _are_ spoilt and full of yourself!" she retorted, punching him hard in the shoulder, eliciting a yelping sound from the otherwise calm and collected Zabini.

"I can't help that my family has money and yours does not," he rejoined, rubbing at his now-bruised shoulder. "Besides, I don't see how being overly confident is worse than being overtly sanctimonious." He mockingly looked down his nose at her. "Get down off your tall steed there, princess."

"Agreed," Ginny replied, nodding her head, giving in to the Slytherin's second point of the night.

"So, are we _frenemies_ now?" he asked, sounding, at once, both saturnine and hopeful. He really did not want to be mercilessly brutalised by the tiny redhead any more.

"_Frenemies_?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"Friends in private who pretend to be enemies in public," he explained absently, still rubbing at his tender shoulder. "I heard Pansy blither on about it one day in class."

Ginny snorted. She never thought she'd see the day when someone like Blaise Zabini was quoting Pansy Parkinson.

"Uh, well, I don't know if I'd go so far as to say 'friends'..."

"It's a bloody turn of phrase, Weasley, and an attempt at humour!" he cried, bringing his palm to his forehead in a mock act of frustration. "I swear both you and Draco are two of the most humourless tosspots in this school—second only to Potter and Parkinson, of course."

"Of course," Ginny agreed, rolling her eyes.

"Speaking of tosspots," Blaise announced, causing her to jump in the direction that he was pointing at with his glass of mead. "I better blend into a wall somewhere lest I be branded a spy." He offered her a charming smile and wink as he walked off. "Cheers."

"Ginny!" Harry called out, as he approached with Luna in tow.

Luna looked stunning with her long, blonde hair floating half-way down her back, shimmering against the contrast of her silver dress robes.

"Hey, Harry! Hey, Luna!" Ginny greeted them both, a goofy grin lingering on her face. The alcohol was starting to take effect. "Luna, you look wonderful."

Luna smiled, eyes wistful and shining, and twirled around for Ginny to see her dress and made a formal curtsy, which made Ginny giggle with delight.

"So do you, Ginny," Luna said, playing with her matching silver earrings.

"Have you seen Hermione?" Harry asked abruptly, not caring for trivial female talk.

"She was trying to avoid the mistletoe when I last saw," Ginny answered, grabbing her empty glass and turning around. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to get another drink."

Luna smiled and waved to Ginny then walked off with Harry to find Hermione. They quickly found the rattled-looking brunette, who was looking furtively about the room for her date—to avoid him.

"So McLaggen is not remotely discouraged by the Mudbl—I mean Granger's run-and-hide act?" Blaise asked, coming up behind Ginny as she poured herself another drink—and expensive-looking mead this time.

"Doesn't appear to be," the redhead rejoined, shrugging her shoulders as she brought the drink to her thirsty lips. "Horny little git, isn't he?" She smirked.

"Aren't we all?" he purred, smirking back.

Ginny rolled her eyes and took another sip of her mead.

"So, that Lovegood girl—" he asked, all of the sudden, "she's Potter's date then? Why didn't he ask you?"

"He didn't get around to it, I guess." Ginny shrugged her shoulders again. "Anyway, I'm glad he didn't ask me."

"Oh?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Yes. It may be shocking to all you Slytherins, but I am over Harry. I don't like him in that way." She hated that everyone thought that she was still infatuated with Harry Potter.

"_All you Slytherins_?" he mimicked. "Weasley, I apologise that I gave you the impression that I remotely care about your relationship with Potter or anyone else for that matter. I was just wondering why he asked the Ravenclaw girl instead of a Gryffindor."

_Oh_. Ginny made the word with her mouth.

"She is a bit of an odd girl, isn't she?" he asked, staring over his drink at Luna, Harry, and Hermione.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, confused.

"No!" Blaise exclaimed, with a look of disgust on his face. "The blonde."

"Luna?" Ginny looked up at the dark-haired boy in a peculiar manner. "Yes, she is different," she agreed then countered, "but that is what makes her so special and unique!"

"I never implied that 'odd' was a bad thing," he retorted somewhat defensively. "She is just…unlike any other girl at this school."

"So odd is a good thing then?" she asked, with a cheeky grin on her face. She was beginning to wonder if Zabini took a fancy to the zany girl.

"It's neither good nor bad," he admitted then scowled at her. "Now piss off with the questioning, Weasley."

Ginny laughed and playfully swatted at Blaise's arm. He smiled charmingly and trotted away from her, causing her to lunge forward and swipe at him. He then turned around and went over to the refreshment table and picked up a bottle of mead and brought it over to Ginny, who smiled, red-faced, as he poured her another glass and one for himself.

Behind them was Draco, staring intently at the playful interaction between Ginny Weasley and his best mate. As he carefully took a wrapped bottle out of his robes pocket and placed it on the table of presents, Draco redirected his gaze back to the laughing and slightly swaying redhead. He was about to step forward to confront the two when a hand clamped down on his ear and began to drag him backwards, away from the crowd.

**xXx**

Draco finally returned to his room an hour later, exhausted. His plan to switch out Slughorn's gift to Dumbledore with his own had worked, but he had been caught in the office by Filch and was forced to lie and say that he was gate-crashing. Luckily, Slughorn had let it go, but Snape had got on him, cornered him, and demanded that he reveal his plans to him.

Draco refused to tell the former Potions master, of course, claiming that Snape simply wanted to steal his thunder; however, that was not his reason for not revealing his plans. In actuality, Draco was deathly afraid that if he did not accomplish his tasks alone, his parents would die. He couldn't chance telling Snape in case the professor would betray him to either Dumbledore or Voldemort.

After another restless hour of trying to get to sleep, a loud knock sounded on his door, and he jumped up out of bed, puzzled as to who it could be. With wand in hand, he swiftly opened the door and pointed his weapon at the unannounced and uninvited guest. Almond shaped eyes, honey-coloured and wide, stared up at him expectantly.

"Weasley?"

"_Weasley_?" Ginny mimicked then giggled, stepping past him into his room.

"Come right in then," Draco said, lifting his arm in welcome and raising an eyebrow as he smacked his lips distastefully.

"You have got a nice room," she commented absently, tripping over the Ottoman near the fireplace and fell onto the floor.

"Yes, well there are usually less redheads sprawled out on the floor," he replied with a hint of annoyance, bending down to pick up the petite Gryffindor.

Ginny cackled at his joke as he began to stand her upright.

"Where is your date, Ginevra?" he asked, backing away to leave her swaying on her feet.

"Huh?" she asked, still giggling.

"Should you not still be out gallivanting with _Blaise_?" he asked, turning his back to her, sounding extremely sullen and childish.

Ginny, who was by this point extremely inebriated, simply stared at Draco's back, trying to decipher exactly what in Merlin's name he was blithering on about.

"What are you whinging on about?"

Draco turned around and saw the bewildered look on her face. Perhaps he had misjudged their interaction. Maybe she was not on a date with Blaise. She did, after all, come to his room and not his mate's.

"I came here to see _you_, you stupid prat!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "I don't know where Zabini is." She hiccupped loudly then stumbled towards him.

"To see me? Why?" he asked, watching the pretty redhead make her way to him.

She was acting very odd—well, more odd than usual. It was as though she was drunk.

"Well, if I didn't come here then you would have just strolled into my room at two in the morning anyway." A goofy grin spread across her angular features. "I might as well crash here so that we can both get a good night's rest."

As she said that, she threw off her Slytherin robes that she had gone back to her room to retrieve, in a drunken stupor, and let them fall to the floor. She began straightening her dress out and stepped over the clothes that she had carelessly dropped to the floor, causing Draco to stare at the heap in disdain.

"Weasley, did you have anything to drink at Slughorn's?" he asked, looking up from the pile of robes to meet her unfocused eyes.

"Of course I did!" she cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "It was a party!"

To Draco's horror, Ginny began twirling around, dancing and pumping her fists in the air, yelling "Woo Hoo!" Yes, indeed. She was definitely drunk.

"What did you drink?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously, ignoring the little song and dance she was doing for his benefit.

"I dunno," she replied, slurring her words. "Something expensive."

"Was it an oak mead?" he asked, suddenly grabbing her hard by the shoulders and shaking her. He was almost beside himself in fright. No, not fright—trepidation.

"Oak what?" She frowned. "I don't recall drinking anything that came from a tree."

Draco shook his head, frustrated. "An oak me—ah never mind!" He dismissed his own question and hurriedly motioned her towards the bed. "Sit down!" he commanded, forcing her to take a seat.

He ran over to his dresser and began rummaging through the drawers in a frantic haste until he found what he was looking for.

"Here, swallow this!" he ordered, running back to the bed and handing her a small kidney-like stone.

"What is this?" she asked, looking at the shrivelled and putrid thing with disgust.

"It prevents hangovers," he lied, handing her a glass of water. "Just bloody well take it, Weasley."

Too drunk to care to banter back and forth with him, the redhead complied and swallowed the small stone he gave her, making a face as she did so. Relieved, Draco lay down beside her. He was almost positive that she didn't drink the poison, but he made her take the bezoar, just in case.

"You know," Ginny stated dreamily, rousing him from his thoughts, "for a slimy Slytherin git, you are dreadfully attractive." She grinned widely at him as she poked a slender finger at his chest.

Draco glowered at her insult-slash-compliment. "You're not too bad looking yourself," he replied then added with a scowl, "for a poor, ruddy Weasley."

They both glared at each other in silence until suddenly, in unison, they both broke out into a fit of laughter. Ginny then lunged forward and began to unmercifully tickle the shirtless Slytherin, eliciting a most unmanly squeal of laughter and protest.

"Weasley!" he howled, trying to pry her tiny fingers off his ribs and underarms. Finally, he flipped her over and rolled on top of her, grabbing her wrists to hold them above her head. "That's a dangerous game you're playing, Freck—"

His words were cut off by Ginny reaching up and capturing his lips with her own, hungrily stealing a kiss. He closed his eyes and growled into her mouth, tightening his grip on her wrists, crushing his weight down on her as he eagerly devoured her kisses. He finally tore his lips away from hers and looked down at her face: her lips were red and swollen; her eyes were half-lidded with desire; her chest was rising and falling with the same rhythm as his own.

"That is an even more dangerous game, Freckles," he finished, with a lazy grin, as he gazed down at his little fox.

He watched as her eyes began to flutter and close. The drink and the bezoar had begun to take hold of her, causing drowsiness. He let go of her wrists and settled down beside her, bringing the covers up around them both. He felt her curl into him, laying her head on his chest and rubbing her soft cheeks against his naked flesh. She brought her left arm over his chest and lazily traced his scar with her fingertip. She then slid her arm fully over to the other side of his waist and held onto him tightly.

Draco grinned to himself as he felt her plant light, soft kisses on his scar and rub her face into his chest one more time. He chortled softly and brought his mouth down to the top of her head and kissed her vanilla-scented hair. They both held each other tightly and quickly fell asleep, with twin smiles lingering on their lips.

**xXx**

Draco woke up with a tingling sensation in his left arm. It was a numb yet stabbing feeling, like pins and needles. He tried to move his arm, but found that it was stuck underneath the body of a petite redhead.

_Weasley._

Draco raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly to himself as he glanced down at the sleeping Gryffindor. They hadn't moved at all from the position that they had fallen asleep in last night. He watched her slumber, snuggled up against him, sighing into his chest as she dragged a leg up over top of his. The smile that was languidly playing on his lips began to twitch and turn downwards into a frown. As much as he liked waking up to a beautiful redhead in his arms, he knew that having the Weasley girl here was only a temporary solution to his nightmare problem. He needed a full remedy. He could not risk having the girl in his room every night, questioning where he was or where he had been, distracting him from his important task.

He carefully and reluctantly began to disentangle himself from her grasp and quietly got out of bed, walking over to his dresser to take out a fresh pair of boxers and trousers. As he methodically got dressed, adjusting and retying his bracer, he glanced over to see Ginny curled up in the exact same position he had left her in. He considered waking her up but decided to let her sleep in.

He went over to his desk and jotted down a quick note on a piece of parchment. Folding the letter, he placed it on the pillow next to her. He then pulled his grey jumper over his head and threw on his robes. He stopped, staring down at her, and traced a finger down her jaw line, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. After a moment, he stood up and grabbed his wand off the bedside cabinet, exiting his room to head towards the library for some answers.

An hour later, Ginny finally woke up. Absent of a warm, solid body next her, her eyes came into focus on a folded piece of parchment beside her face on the pillow. She gathered her bearings and sat upright against the headboard of the bed. She gingerly picked up the letter, unfolded it, and began to read:

'_Freckles, I gather you had a good sleep taking up half of my bed. I have some work to do, so I am sure you know how to let yourself out. We shall meet later tonight: my room, nine o'clock.' _

Ginny rolled her eyes at his formal demand but could not hide the hint of a smile that formed on her lips. She folded back the covers and groggily got out of bed, searching for her make-shift Slytherin robes. When she finally made her way back to her room, she hastily changed out of her wrinkled dress into a pair of jeans and a white blouse. She lazily sauntered into the common room to overhear Harry talking to a cold and distant-looking Ron and Hermione. He was lecturing them on the wickedness that was Draco Malfoy, who had supposedly made a scene at Slughorn's party last night.

Intrigued, she kept quiet and unnoticed in the corner on the other side of the room. She listened as Harry went on about Malfoy being up to no good and having a row with Snape about some Unbreakable Vow. It all made no sense to her aching head, and she didn't care to question him on it. She was sure that she'd get an ear-full of it at the Burrow over Christmas.

Ginny decided that it might be best to exit the towers through her own door and make her way down to the library. She hoped to find Luna there before they both left for the holidays. When she arrived, she was satisfied to find her friend waiting for her. She was also shocked to see Blaise Zabini sitting beside the small blonde.

"Hullo, Ginny," Luna greeted airily, waving to the startled redhead, who finally sat down beside her. "I was hoping to see you before you left for the holidays. I thought we could try one last time at that potions project. Blaise here has suggested a few ingredients that we could include in our potion. I added them to our list." The Ravenclaw pointed to their Potions journal.

'_Blaise'? She calls him by his first name now?_

"Hullo, Weasley," the mocha-skinned Slytherin greeted in a bored tone that was supported by a look of indifference.

"Hey," Ginny returned, mimicking his boredom out of spite. "So, you're coming with?"

"Yeah," he replied, nodding his head slightly. "I thought it might be useful to have my name attached to this document as well." He played with a quill while Luna watched. "It would make Mother rather pleased to discover that I have actually been performing some academics here."

Ginny snorted and shook her head as she got up, motioning them to follow. "Well, we might as well go to the Potions room now before it is locked up for the hols," she said, as she wound her way around the shelves of books.

Blaise and Luna followed suit, shouldering their satchels and silently makin their way out of the library. When the trio finally made it down into the dungeons, Luna and Ginny got to work straight away, adding the extra ingredients that Blaise had suggested and brought with him. Ginny had thought to ask him how he acquired such expensive and rare ingredients (some of which she had never even heard of) but thought it best not to after the row that she had with him the night before.

Ginny stirred in the last ingredient while Blaise supervised and looked over at Luna, who was scribbling down notes as she observed the potion boil.

"Luna, do you think you could help me make a Dreamless Sleeping Potion?"

Luna glanced up from her notes and smiled at Ginny. "I think that is feasible, but I am not an expert on such things." A small frown formed on her pixie-like face. "We would have to ask Professor Slughorn for advice on how to make it, or perhaps he has some in stock."

Ginny nodded her head and looked over at Blaise, who was still staring at Luna. Luna's face was nestled between the pages of her book, oblivious to handsome Slytherin's gaze. His eyes, however, would not be averted as he glared almost menacingly at the small blonde. In fact, he looked downright tempestuous.

"Zabini, could you stir this for me while I go find Slughorn at his office?" Ginny asked politely, and he nodded his head absently as though lost in deep in thought, still scowling at Luna. "Luna, did you want to come with me?" Ginny didn't feel like leaving Luna alone with the uncharacteristically smouldering Slytherin.

"Sure." Luna placed her quill inside the notebook as a bookmark then set it down on the table. "Bye!" she sang to Blaise, skipping out of the room ahead of Ginny.

Blaise simply grunted in response and walked over to the cauldron to begin stirring, watching them as they left.

As Ginny and Luna made their way to Slughorn's office, Luna began to hum a peculiar tune, causing Ginny to look at her askance.

"You okay, Luna?" she asked.

Luna turned around to smile at Ginny. "I'm wonderful," she replied, stopping short at Slughorn's door to knock.

After a moment, they both heard muffled footsteps, and the door swung open. Professor Snape peered out and looked down at the two girls with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Oh, uh...sorry, sir," Ginny said, shocked. "We, uh, thought we would find Professor Slughorn here."

"No," Snape began slowly, leaning against the doorframe, "I am afraid that he is detained in his own quarters at the moment. Late night." He gave her a withered look to match the disgust he held in his voice. "Can I assist you, Miss Weasley?"

"Uh..." Ginny stalled, not knowing what to say.

"We were wondering if you could tell us how to make a Dreamless Sleeping Potion, Professor Snape," Luna asked in her blunt, get-to-the-point way.

"...I could," he answered after a moment's pause, raising an eyebrow at the candid and unflappable Ravenclaw. "I believe I made one for Miss Weasley here in her second year." He looked down at the blushing redhead. "As I recall, it did not work for you."

"No," Ginny admitted, hating the fact that Snape knew something so intimate about her, more than her own family. "But I have been having rather horrible nightmares lately, and it really couldn't hurt."

Snape straightened his back and began to pick at invisible lint. "I believe I have some notes in my office," he offered monotonously, closing Slughorn's door behind him. "If you would follow me."

"Thank you, Professor," Ginny said dumbly, as both she and Luna followed the imposing Slytherin Head of House to his office.

They waited outside while he went in and closed the door, rummaging through his files until he came back out and closed the door, handing Ginny his notes on the Dreamless Sleeping Draught.

"Here you go, Miss Weasley," he said, handing her the papers. "Do get these notes back to me before you leave for the holidays. Later this afternoon would be preferable." He drawled out the formality in his eerily silky way.

Ginny nodded her head in thanks and took off back towards the Potions room with Luna, hoping to copy the notes and make the potion right there.

"How is your project coming along?" he asked, as they walked away, causing Ginny to turn around in surprise. "Professor Slughorn informed me about it last night." A faint, smug smile of satisfaction tugged at his lips. "He said that you were doing this project with Mister Malfoy..." Twin expressions of amusement and incredulity played across his aquiline features.

"Uh, yes," she replied, unsure of what to say. "Luna is also helping us."

The blonde smiled up at the nettled-looking professor at the mention of her name.

"I see," he said, sounding unconvinced. "Are you working on this potion right now?"

Ginny obtusely nodded her head in reply.

"May I see it?" he asked slowly, enunciating every word.

There was a pause, and finally Ginny spoke up. "Of course," she replied, looking to Luna for help.

The slender Ravenclaw simply smiled and turned around, skipping back towards the Potions room with Snape and Ginny in tow. The cauldron was off the burner when they arrived, and Blaise was nowhere in sight.

"Hmm, these notes look promising," the former Potions master commented, as he skimmed Ginny and Luna's journal.

He was hovering over the table where they had everything prepared, reading the notes and glancing down at the now-simmering liquid inside the cauldron.

"Primrose and a seer stone. What made you think to add these?" He looked down at Ginny with the slightest tinge of admiration. "That is quite astute," he murmured to himself, shaking his head in surprise.

Ginny looked over at Luna, who merely shrugged her shoulders but remained smiling. Malfoy was taking care of her, Zabini was helping her with her project, and Snape was praising her. Had the Slytherin ranks gone soft?

"_Specialis Revelio_!" Snape said, pointing his wand at the potion then directing it to a blank piece of paper in Luna's journal, watching the list of ingredients in the cauldron spill out onto the paper. "You actually managed to obtain a seer stone?" There was unmasked suspicion on his face as he peered into the cauldron, and he wrinkled his nose in doubt, stabbing at its contents with his wand. "Mister Malfoy must have acquired that for you." He glanced over his shoulder at Ginny and looked down his nose at her with scepticism etched all over his face.

_Ah, condescending-domineering-mistrusting Professor Snape is back_, Ginny thought to herself and smiled. _All is right with the world again._

"This potion could work," he said slowly, nodding his head. "Have you decided what revealing spell you will use to identify the owner of said DNA?"

"We were thinking of just using '_Revelo_'," Ginny explained, watching Snape's upper lip twitch in either amusement or mockery—it might have been a combination of the two.

"Do you have the item you wish to test?" he asked.

Ginny's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she immediately began rummaging her pockets for the item in question. Slowly, she pulled the coveted piece of fabric out of her pocket and handed it to Professor Snape.

"It's blood," she told him, watching the professor examine the dark stain on the silver, green, and black fabric. "We're trying to figure out who it belongs to."

Snape raised an inquisitive eyebrow and took the swatch, placing it on the table. He grabbed the dropper and dipped it into the now-cooled potion to retrieve the liquid. He placed the dropper above the fabric and squeezed out a few droplets onto the soiled garment, watching it turn a fluorescent blue colour. He then took his wand and pointed it at the piece of cloth and said '_Revelo_'. Directing his wand to a blank piece of parchment, he watched in amusement as words began to spell out on the paper.

"Well, Miss Weasley," he said dryly, rotating his hips to look back at her, "it turns out that this is _your_ blood."

**xXx**

**Author notes:** I apologise about the 'intimate' scenes—I kinda suck at writing them.

Special thanks to **Cadaverous Apples **for beta-ing this chapter! =)


	10. Kismet

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Ten: Kismet_

Draco returned to his room, deep in thought. He had spent the entire day and most of his evening in the library going through numerous texts on dreams and Divination and the feeling of déjà vu associated with them. He had learnt that this phenomenon was referred to as extrasensory perception or E.S.P, a type of precognition. He had discovered that some dreams that appear to be real could, in fact, _be_ real. Additionally, in a dream where you have harmed yourself in some manner, you can wake up in actual physical pain, sometimes with real physical injuries.

He could not find much on dreams in which people shared, except in an excerpt from an ambiguous article titled _The Taboo of Magical Bondage_. The article said very little, and, by this point, he was rather exhausted and could read no more. He would have to research more into the matter or at least consult with the centaur after the Christmas holidays.

Draco had barely sat down on his bed when a soft knock sounded on his door. He looked down at his watch: it was already nine o'clock. Opening the door, he watched as the petite Gryffindor in Slytherin robes stepped inside, pulling her hood back in haste, turning around to look up at him. He saw the look of apprehension on her face and noted something clenched tightly in her hand.

"It's _my_ blood!" she cried, holding out her hand to show him the swatch that he had given her months ago.

Draco closed the door and frowned, taking the cloth from her hand. "So it did happen then," he said aloud, string at the small patch of dried blood.

"_What_ happened, Malfoy?" Ginny asked, pacing in front of him. "What is going on?"

Draco sighed and threw the piece of fabric onto his desk. He walked over to his bed, sat down, and bent forward, running his fingers through his hair.

"Malfoy?" she asked again, her hands resting on her hips.

"Well, sit down, Freckles," Draco ordered blandly, removing his hands from his hair long enough to pat the spot beside him on the bed.

She complied and walked over, taking a seat. She stared intently at him, waiting for her answers.

"Remember the dream you had a few weeks back?" he asked, refusing to look her in the eyes. "The one you had about the Dark Lord chasing you through the Potions room and into a tunnel that led outside onto the school grounds?"

Ginny stared at him, open-mouthed. She had never told him about that dream. "How do you—"

"I shared that exact same dream with you," he answered, cutting her off. "Except, I think I was just observing your dream, participating in it somehow."

Ginny blinked several times, trying to understand exactly what he was trying to say.

"Your fingers were bloody," he continued. "I think you tore a nail or something."

Her eyes lit with understanding.

"You grabbed my collar," he said, a look of disdain etched across his face. "You got blood all over my robes." He pointed to the wad of fabric on his desk.

"That?" Ginny asked, pointing at it.

"Yes. Those were the robes that you touched," he replied flatly. "Blaise found them outside the next morning."

"They are real then?" she whispered, disbelievingly at first, shaking her head as she began to come to terms with the information he was providing her. "It can't be."

"Weasley, I—"

"All these years, all of those horrible nightmares. They have all been _real_," she said, looking up at him with tears brimming in her eyes. "It's all real!"

Uncomfortable with her gaze, Draco shifted on the bed, unable to come up with a way to placate her fears. "I don't know if _all_ of your dreams have been real," he began, "but from what I have read, some dreams can affect people on a physical level, like your bruises, like the blood."

"What about people who share dreams?"

Draco frowned. "I'm not sure. I couldn't find much information on that. It could be due to a magical bond that two people share. Perhaps we share that kind of bond because we both wrote in—"

"Tom's diary?" Ginny asked doubtfully, shaking her head. "Then we both would have had these dreams a long time ago." Draco lowered his head in defeat. "I don't think it is Riddle's diary that has created a magical bond between us."

"Then what did?" he asked her, looking tired and worn.

"I don't know." She sighed then straightened her shoulders. "At least I now know that I am not completely bonkers," she said with some relief, a cheeky grin spreading across her cherub-like face.

Draco snorted. "I wouldn't rule that out quite yet, Freckles," he said with a drawl.

Ginny grinned and leaned over to punch him in the arm. "Well, I guess I should get going. We're leaving tomorrow morning, so I had better finish packing tonight." She slow rose from Draco's bed.

"Yes, I should be packing as well." He stood up and escorted her to the door. "Have a pleasant Christmas, Ginevra," he said somewhat awkwardly, leaning down to kiss her chastely on the cheek.

"You too," Ginny returned, blushing. "Oh, wait!" She waved her hands at him rather urgently and then began to fumble about in her pockets. "I have a Christmas present for you."

Draco opened his mouth in surprise as she pulled out a small crystal phial and handed it to him with that same cheeky grin on her face. He looked at the ampoule in his hand and blinked.

"It's a Dreamless Sleeping Draught. I made it for you this afternoon," she explained. "It should help you during the hols."

"Thank you," he said softly, shocked at what she had done for him.

"You're welcome," she said, squinting her eyes as she smiled broadly, and then rose up on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "Happy Christmas, Draco."

**xXx**

Christmas came and went and passed without much incident, for Ginny. It had been less than eventful, although there were some amusing moments, such as the numerous altercations between her mother and Fleur and the unexpected visit from the Minister for Magic, accompanied by her pariah of a brother, Percy. Other than that, most of the holidays had been spent listening to Harry try to convince Ron, Hermione, Lupin, and anyone else who would listen about his calculations on the nefarious Draco Malfoy. In all honesty, she never recalled seeing Malfoy at the party nor did she really care. So, instead of embroiling herself in the Trio's drama, she spent her vacation hanging out with the twins, getting into general mischief and mayhem.

When Ginny returned to Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom immediately greeted her and excitedly began to engage her in a one-sided discussion about a discovery that he had made at his grandmother's home over the holidays. He had asked her if she wanted to see what he had found, and so, humouring him, she followed the older boy to Greenhouse Two, where he ushered her inside towards the dark corner of the room.

With a sense of dread (and impending doom), Ginny was expectant to face a more horrible variation of Neville's mimbulus mimbletonia. She hesitantly approached the tiny mass of tendrils and vines that silently wriggled on the table in front of her.

"Neville?" she asked suspiciously, bringing her wand out for safety purposes. "What is this?"

"It's Devil's Snare!" he exclaimed proudly.

Ginny recoiled in horror. "Neville!" she hissed. "These things can kill people!" She immediately trained her wand on the plant, expecting it to leap foward and attack her.

"It's just a baby, Ginny." He tried to smile at her reassuringly. "They are not deadly until their vines reach maturity," he explained in a matter-of-fact tone, reminding her of Hermione. "I owled Madam Sprout over the hols to tell her what I had found in my grandmum's shed, and she said that I should bring it to Hogwarts."

"Why?" she asked warily, eyeing the tiny creeper.

"Devil's Snare is an amazingly rare plant," he lectured. "As a baby, it is virtually harmless and can be easily harvested for its magical properties, which are utilised in several rare and powerful potions."

The qualifier 'virtually' did not comfort Ginny any. She cared a great deal for Neville; however, at times she truly wished that he didn't have to share with her every odd-looking or dangerous plant that he came across.

"See its springy tendrils?" he asked, giddy with wonder as he lifted the tiny plant towards her.

Ginny instinctively brought her wand up, and a small creeper from the plant viciously lashed out. Its tiny vine circled her wand and yanked it forward. She pulled it back in time, trying to wrest it from the plant's tenacious grip. In the process of jerking her wand back, the creeper lunged forward out of Neville's hand and shot a small burst of blue liquid onto her face. She stumbled backwards, bringing up a hand, sticky with blue ooze.

Neville immediately dropped the Devil's Snare and incapacitated it with an immobilisation spell, which the plant quickly shook off and squirmed its way under one of the tables. Ginny felt her body begin to sway; a feeling of vertigo seized her, as she began to fall backwards. Neville instinctively reached out and caught her.

"Ginny!" Neville cried, grabbing her by the shoulders, holding her up.

Her vision was blurring, and she felt dizzy and light-headed. "Wah?" she asked, her tongue going numb.

"Oh dear." Neville fretted nervously and fumbled about with his hands in his pockets. "Here, open your mouth, Ginny. Take this," he said, taking his hand out of his pockets and shoving what appeared to be a small, pale peach-coloured root into her mouth.

Ginny chewed slowly, making a face at the root's potent and distinct flavour that burst onto her taste buds. The acrid taste burned on her tongue and made her eyes water. After a few seconds, she immediately began to feel its effects. She felt less disoriented than before as the sensation of vertigo began to leave her. However, she still was shaken and somewhat dizzy.

"The goo is a defence mechanism that the Snare uses to disorient and impair its victim," Neville explained, holding her face in his hands, making sure that she was lucid and conscious. "It is temporary and harmless at its infancy stage, as it is now, but it still makes you feel rather sick." He frowned.

"Wah woz hat?" she slurred, pointing to the piece of root that he had given her.

"It's ginger," he answered, smiling weakly. "I carry some around just in case..."

"Eh hoots hime ah oo—ahem—at you?" she finished, finally gaining back her cognitive speech.

"Yeah," Neville admitted, shamefaced. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine, Neville," she said, waving her hand in front of her face then slipped.

Neville caught her again and steadied her. He held her face once more so that he could check her pupils.

As Neville inspected Ginny, Draco happened to saunter by the greenhouse on his way out to have a chilly broom ride, to cure the feelings restlessness and apprehension that he had acquired over the holidays. He had heard someone, a male, say 'Ginny', and his curiosity got the best of him.

As he cautiously approached the opening, Draco peered inside to see who was talking about the Weasley girl. What he saw made his stomach churn with revulsion and anger: Longbottom was holding the redhead's face with her eyes closed. It looked as though the idle-brained cretin was about to kiss her! Draco saw red and tasted blood, not even realising that he had already withdrew his wand and had it pointed at the tall, lanky Gryffindor.

"_Congringo_!" Draco yelled, aiming his wand at Neville's head.

Neville had looked up just in time to see Malfoy enter the room and shout the spell. The tall Gryffindor lunged forward and pushed Ginny to the floor with him, dodging the spell that hit the table behind them, bursting it into flames. Neville turned over, shielding the redhead with his body, as he fumbled about for his wand.

Draco's upper lip curled into a snarl as he witnessed the wimpy Gryffindor's display of chivalry. "_Conjunctivitus_!" he hissed, pointing his wand squarely at Neville's head.

Neville dropped his wand and his hands went up to his eyes, howling in pain. Ginny, however, had her wand aimed at Malfoy from behind Neville's body after finally being able to reach for her own weapon. She watched as the grey-eyed Slytherin trained his wand on her housemate, looking as though he was preparing to hex Neville into oblivion.

"_Impedimenta_!" Ginny shouted, sending Draco stumbling backwards.

Once recovered, Draco looked down at Ginny with confusion and anger. He lifted his wand and aimed it at her when he saw her point her wand to her right, away from him, which made him momentarily hesitate.

"_Oppungo_ Devil's Snare!" she yelled, directing her wand at a small squishy plant on the floor then pointed her wand back up at Draco.

The mushy sponge launched itself at the blond, but Draco quickly waved his wand in front of him.

"_Duro_!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the tiny creeper and turning it into stone, watching as it dropped to the floor.

Still in the motion of diving out of the plant's way, Draco hadn't noticed that the Weasley girl had rose to her feet and had her wand trained on him. He waited almost expectantly for her patented Bat-Bogey Hex.

"_Furunculus_!" Ginny said maliciously.

Grotesque boils suddenly began to break out all over the handsome blond's face.

"You bitc—"

Draco's words were cut off as he soared backwards through the air, as both Ginny and Neville had simultaneously hit him with an Impedimenta Curse. He unceremoniously fell to the ground just outside of the greenhouse.

"_Colloportus_!" Ginny cried, a furious glint in her eyes, and slammed the door shut and locking it, leaving a boil-covered Draco fuming on the floor.

Draco jumped to his feet, his wand held tightly in his hand. He considered storming back inside and hexing the She-Weasel and Longbottom into the next century.

_She's not worth it_, he snarled in his mind.

Draco then turned on his heel and brought his hood up to cover his face. He would have to go see Snape for some nettle.

**xXx**

After getting Longbottom seen to, Ginny had begun to explain the whole ordeal to Luna, who had been at the infirmary chatting with Madam Pomfrey when Ginny and Neville arrived. The blonde Ravenclaw could not fathom an explanation for Malfoy's behaviour. Sure, Malfoy didn't like Neville, but he rarely bullied anyone without an audience.

Luna and Ginny, still chatting about the eventful afternoon, both went over to the window to look outside. It was then that Ginny spotted Blaise Zabini sitting in the atrium just below the hospital wing. Without a moment's hesitation, she made a beeline straight for the darkly handsome brunet, with Luna close behind.

"I hate him!" Ginny yelled, out of breath, once she reached Zabini.

"Hullo to you too, Weasley," he replied, not looking up from a book he was reading: _The Dream Oracle_ by Inigo Imag.

"Don't 'hullo' me!" she snapped, causing him to glance up at her in mild amusement. "What the hell is wrong with Malfoy?"

"Besides the obvious?" he rejoined facetiously. "You will have to be more specific."

"He just hexed Neville Longbottom for NO reason!" she shouted, ignoring the Slytherin's attempt at wit.

"I'm fairly certain that for Draco Longbottom's existence is reason enough to hex," Blaise responded flatly.

"That's not what I meant!" She growled, tapping her foot anxiously on the ground. "He just came into the greenhouse where Neville and I were working and started blasting at him. There was no provocation whatsoever!"

Blaise put down his book and looked up at the redhead, wearing a rather annoyed expression. "And what, pray-tell, would you like me to do about it, Weasley? Don my cap and pipe and go stalk about the Slytherin dormitories, gathering clues?" He brought his book back up and began to read once more, shaking his head. "Draco simply does not like Longbottom or Gryffindors in general—present company excluded, of course." He smirked then tilted his head to look up at her, squinting his eyes in the glare of the sun. "Mystery solved, Watson."

Ginny simply stared at Blaise, unable to come up with a snappy retort. "Speaking of mysteries," she began weakly, changing the subject, "where did _you_ run off to the last day before holidays? You were supposed to be working on the potions project with us, but you just buggered off, nowhere to be found!"

"Why? Did you send out a search party?" He laughed derisively at her. "I had to pack," he explained, shrugging his shoulders indifferently.

Ginny folded her arms across chest. "You could have told us that!"

"Why exactly do I need to explain myself to you?" he asked, putting his book down, his eyes hardening. "I gave you the ingredients you needed. I helped. I assume you finished it or whatever."

Ginny was about to open her mouth to rebut when she was interrupted from a voice behind her.

"Ginny, stop taking your anger out on Blaise," Luna said, her soft voice pushing its way through the hostility. "He's not the one who hurt Neville."

Ginny turned around and looked at the blonde-haired Ravenclaw, who had chosen to remain silent until that moment. She saw the look of empathy in Luna's eyes, and she sighed.

"Right," the plucky Gryffindor admitted. "You're right, Luna." She turned back around, looking somewhat sheepishly at the tall Slytherin. "Listen, Zabini, I'm sorry I—"

"Oh dear Merlin," he began, rolling his eyes as he brought his large forearms across his broad chest. "Please, not another one of those insincere apologies, Weasley. They always lead directly into something quite patronising."

Ginny could not hold back a smirk as she recalled the last time she had tried to apologise to him. "Well, Luna _is_ right," she relented. "You are not the one who hurt Neville, so I really should not have been so forceful—"

"High-and-mighty?" Blaise suggested, smiling.

"Autocratic?" Luna added innocently with a helpful smile on her face.

"—_With_ you," Ginny continued, glowering at both Luna and Blaise. "I thought that maybe as Malfoy's friend you could explain _why_ he did it."

"Maybe he's jealous," Luna commented softly, offering the most rational explanation.

Both Blaise and Ginny stared at Luna, who did not appear remotely uncomfortable under their gazes.

"Jealous of Neville?" Ginny asked, furrowing her brow.

Malfoy jealous of Neville? That would mean he would have to like her. Okay, sure, they had snogged a few times, but that was a hormonal thing, right? He couldn't possibly have feelings for her, could he? No, of course not.

"That's ridiculous," Ginny said with a half-hearted, indignant laugh.

Luna merely shrugged her shoulders, and Blaise went back to his reading. Ginny lowered her hands and fidgeted, trying desperately not to think of Malfoy as someone who was romantically possessive of her.

"He's up to no good!" she blurted. "That is what's going on." She nodded her head and looked to Blaise for confirmation, but he offered none.

"You've convinced yourself that you have all the facts, Weasley. What do you need me for?" he asked rhetorically, turning the page to his book. "All you need now is to fetch a noose and some sturdy scaffolding."

Ginny frowned. She wasn't dogmatic when it came to Malfoy. It was just a matter of track record. He was the son of a convicted Death Eater, a confessed hater of blood traitors, half-breeds, Muggles, Mudbloods, and anyone who came from a lower social class than he. She didn't need to defend her assumptions.

"You can paint me any way you like, Zabini," she replied defiantly, sniffing as she turned around. "Malfoy has no excuse for what he did today. I'm sorry that I even considered him half-decent."

There was an awkward exchange of silence between the three until Blaise dared to breach it.

"I wouldn't count him out just yet," Blaise said quietly, as though supplying an afterthought.

"Count him out?" Ginny asked in a high voice, turning around to look at the dark-haired Slytherin. She then lowered her chin and pouted. "Why not?"

"Well," Blaise sighed, "he must have done something right to make you so obsessed with him."

"_Obsessed_?" Ginny cried indignantly, baulking at his insinuation.

"Can you think of another word to describe the little act you performed for us just now?" he asked, looking amused. "Storming out here to tell me, of all people, that you think Draco Malfoy's an evil, little shit?" He laughed. "Who exactly are you trying to convince here, Weasley?"

Ginny opened her mouth, drew in a great breath of air, and closed it. "I'm not obsessed with him!" she cried, turning her head to sulk. "I didn't even come here to discuss him."

"No?" He raised a dark eyebrow. "You came out here to have a discussion about the weather then?" A smug smile tugged at his full lips.

"I—"

"So, I am delusional then?" he interrupted. "You didn't come out here to talk about Draco?" He turned to Luna. "Hey, Lovegood! Did I imagine Weasley here talking to us about Malfoy?"

"No," Luna replied airily. "She's here right now, discussing him with us."

"So," he said, turning towards Ginny, smiling. "We're not delusional then."

"No," Luna confirmed, her bright eyes shining.

"Gah! Shut up, would you?" Ginny huffed at Blaise, throwing her arms up in the air.

"This is infatuation, you know, dear," he lectured, nodding his head. "Young love." He sighed, bringing a hand to his chest, attempting to look dreamy.

Ginny glared at him and swore under her breath. She then turned around and headed back into the castle.

"Watch it, Weasley!" Blaise called out after her, taunting. "With the kind of obsession you have for Malfoy, he might just creep into your dreams at night!"

Luna cocked her head to the side and looked down at the svelte and handsome Slytherin in his chair with a knowing yet unreadable expression on her face.

Blaise, in turn, looked sidelong up at her. "What?"

**xXx**

It had been pouring outside for hours, and Ginny crawled into bed, exhausted. The wand duel earlier had worn her out completely. Luckily, Neville had reacted quickly and knocked her to the ground, covering her, which allowed her to get the jump on Malfoy. She still had no idea why he attacked Neville. Luna had said that maybe he was jealous. Was he? Did he think of her in that way? It is not like they were dating—just snogging and sharing the occasional frighteningly vivid nightmares.

Unable and unwilling to answer her own questions, Ginny shook her head and sighed. Leaning over to pick up her wand from the bedside cabinet, she flicked off the lights and settled back into bed with a sigh, bringing the covers up to her chin. She quickly fell asleep to the pitter-patter sound of rain falling outside her window.

"Ginevra," Tom whispered, running his soft, pale hand down her cheek.

"Tom," she whimpered back, knowing that his soft touch, like his human form, wouldn't last.

"You have been distant with me lately," he said, standing behind her. "There was a time when you used to come to me, willingly; a time when _you_ sought _me_ out."

"That was a long time ago, Tom," she whispered, shivering at the recollection. "This is just a dream. I cannot hide here any longer."

She knew that she was dreaming. It was one of her less terrifying nightmares: the kind where Tom seduced her with his charm, his hunger, and his power. Dream Tom was correct though. In the past, she had come to him to escape. She had craved the power that he gave her, the unadulterated rush of danger and excitement that came from the unknown. But now Malfoy haunted her dreams and invaded her waking thoughts. Tom had begun to be pushed to the back of her mind. The red-eyed lord, however, would not have it so.

He trailed his cold fingers down her neck. "Yes, I see that you have taken fancy with another, Ginevra. You cannot believe that he cares for you like I do," he whispered against her ear, sending chills down her spine.

"It is of no consequence whether he does or not," she whispered back.

"You know you cannot lie to me, Ginevra," he said. "Especially in your dreams." His smile was attractive yet cold, never quite reaching his eyes.

"Why not?" she countered. "I control them. This is all in _my_ mind, not yours." She turned around face him. "I should be able to control you."

His laughter was cold and mocking. "You control nothing, Ginevra." He gave her a ghastly smile and jeered at her. "Control and power here," he said, motioning with his hands to the empty space around them, "is an illusion."

For a moment, Ginny stared at the floor in defeat but then raised her head defiantly. She would not give in to him this time.

"You are not welcome here any more," she spoke evenly.

Perhaps it was the duel earlier or the rush of raw power that came to her now. She had finally decided that she was no longer going to be Riddle's victim.

Tom's laughter boomed and echoed in her ears. "And who is going to usher me out, Ginevra? _You_?"

"I control my dreams!" she screamed at him. "I CONTROL MY LIFE!"

"Prove it!" he hissed in return. His unnaturally handsome face contorted into the shadow of the creature that he would become.

"Draco," she whispered, shutting her eyes tight.

His face was the first image that popped into her mind, and suddenly she felt as though her body was being transported, gliding through the ethereal plane. She opened her eyes, finding it hard to adjust to the lack of light. When her pupils fully dilated and her mind was finally able to register the scene before her, her breath hitched in her throat. She was in Malfoy's room, standing over him while he slept.

"Prove your power, Ginevra," Tom said, holding a small silver dagger out to her.

Ginny took it and bit her lip, gazing down at the slumbering Slytherin. All traces of the boils that she had given him earlier that morning were gone. He looked beautiful and serene.

"I need to know," she said aloud, remembering what Malfoy had told her earlier about dreams and how they could sometimes physically manifest themselves on the dreamer.

Tom was behind her, urging her. His hand was gripped tightly on her shoulder. She had to know if this was reality or illusion, if she had any control.

"My mind is a tangled weave, a jig-saw puzzle of confusion." She sighed. "I don't know what is real and what is fantasy."

She looked down at the unaware blond. Tears began to form in her eyes then brimmed, spilling over to trickle slowly down her cheeks. She brought the tip of the knife to his neck.

"Forgive me."

**.oOo.**

Draco sat up in his bed in a start and yelped in pain, slapping his hand at his neck. He brought his palm back, lifting it up to his face to examine it, to see what insect had bitten him. Dawning horror filled him as he glanced down to see his fingers covered in blood. A warm wetness trickled down his neck, and he felt a stinging hot pain that only came with the action of being cut.

"What the bloody fu—"

**xXx**

"I woke up bleeding all over my sheets!" he cried, pacing the room in front of Blaise. "I haven't the foggiest idea how I cut myself."

Blaise was sitting on one of the plush leather chairs in front of the fireplace. He was leaning forward, inspecting Draco's small cut on his neck.

"Well, it seems rather superficial," he noted, frowning. "Just cut deep enough to draw blood. Perchance you did this in your sleep?"

Draco shook his head. "No, I couldn't have. This isn't a scratch. It's a wound. A knife made this!" he exclaimed, pointing at his neck.

Blaise leaned back and laced his fingers together, placing them on his lap. "Perhaps you were sleep-walking or had a dream?"

Again, Draco shook his head. "No. I don't have dreams," he explained, and then sat down beside his mate, running his fingers through his tousled blond hair.

"That's impossible!" Blaise declared, leaning forward, sounding somewhat out of character, but then quickly recovered. "How could you not have dreams?"

"The Weasley girl made me this Dreamless Potion," Draco explained, waving his hand in front of him. He pointed to a small crystal phial on top of his dresser near the common room entrance. "I have been taking it every day since Christmas holidays."

Blaise frowned and leaned back again. "Maybe you should stop taking it then. Perhaps the potion is affecting you."

"Maybe," Draco offered weakly, and then made to stand up.

"Where are you off to?" Blaise asked, eyeing the tired-looking blond.

"These books are not helping me whatsoever," Draco stated as a way of answering. He threw one of them down onto the table. "I need to go talk to someone."

Blaise got up with Draco, and they both left his room, parting their separate ways. Draco made his way towards the North Tower and descended a set of stairs towards Classroom Eleven. He really did not wish to talk with either Divination professor: one was a half-breed, and the other was a half-brain; however, at this moment, he would rather deal with the horse than the bug-eyed loony.

"Good morning, student. May I assist you?" the blue-eyed platinum-blond palomino greeted Draco as he entered the room.

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered about the room, inspecting it for other students. Once he found that he and the centaur were alone, his nerves settled somewhat.

"Yes," Draco replied after a while, sniffing arrogantly. "I have a few questions about dreams and Divination."

Firenze coolly considered the intrepid and swaggering boy, trying to discern whether his inquiry was genuine or spurious.

"Centaurs do not use dream interpretation as a form of prediction. That is an inept _human_ method," he said distastefully. "Our methods are much more traditional and proven." He inclined his head, sounding equally as haughty as the pompous, grey-eyed Slytherin.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes well..." He paused, smacking his lips as though there was something vile and disgusting on his palate. "Do you know anything about dreams then?"

"Are you asking about dreams as a form of 'fortune-telling', to predict the future?" Firenze asked, scowling. "For that is a branch of magic that is imprecise at best."

Draco shook his head and breathed out through his nose. "Déjà vu feelings," he clarified. "Feeling like a dream is real, feeling the effects of that dream—like being cut in a dream and waking up bleeding."

"You have been cut in a dream and woke up bleeding?" the centaur asked, a sceptical expression hanging on his face.

Draco shrugged at the professor. He really did not want go into specifics about his life and dreams with a half-breed.

"That could be your subconscious and unconscious minds at work," Firenze explained. "Your brain controls your actions while you sleep, causing your body to enact what you are dreaming."

"Explain," Draco ordered impatiently.

The centaur glared up at him menacingly, which caused Draco to clear his throat.

"Can this be linked to Divination at all?" Draco asked somewhat politely, causing the palomino to slightly soften his expression and continue.

"Divination interpreted through dreams is a sensory perception," he lectured. "That is, by dreaming you perceive something going on elsewhere that, if continued to its natural conclusion, will have an impact on someone or something in the future."

Draco stared at the professor blankly.

"It is not a _raw_ prediction," Firenze clarified. "There are many different possible outcomes. It is not like going into the future and being able to come back to the present and report on it."

"So if I dream every night that someone is going to be hurt by a specific someone, then this is a natural course of action, a natural conclusion?" Draco asked, still unsure of the centaur's point.

"Not necessarily so," the professor replied, shaking both head and tail. "If you were a Seer, then yes. It is a hint of a possible outcome, a potential future. This could also be true if you were a prophet or an oracle being sent a message or quest from the gods—"

"Gods?" Draco asked in disbelief, cutting off the Divination professor.

"Yes," the centaur replied rigidly, annoyed that the human had interrupted him. "We are all governed by the gods. Although they do not often trouble themselves by meddling in our mundane lives, they still affect us marginally."

"How?"

"The stars and planets themselves are representatives of the gods, watching over us. They affect us in small yet significant ways. They provide us with a voice for our conscience, inspire our arts as our muses, touch us with dreams or visions of glory, and help us find faith when we are lost."

"Dreams?" Draco asked, the word popping out at him.

"Yes." The blue-eyed centaur nodded his head. "They are gods—immortals—who control our dreams and decide our fate."

"Why?" Draco asked, his brow creasing. He wasn't much of a philosopher and believed Divination, in general, to be a rather flighty concept.

"I do not question their reasons," Firenze replied, with an indignant look on his face. "Destiny, it seems, plays an important role." He began to clomp around the room towards his desk. "As I was saying earlier, in most cases when you dream about the same person under duress it means that you, yourself, are under stress or worry about the safety and well-being of that person."

Draco frowned and walked over to the desk where the centaur stood. "And what about feelings of déjà vu then? That is a form of perception and prediction, right?"

"It can be..." The hoofed professor paused and eyed the Slytherin wearily. "Let us speak plainly," he said abruptly, causing Draco to stand up straight. "You are having dreams about someone in trouble, and these dreams appear real to you?"

Draco remained silent for a moment, eyeing the centaur suspiciously. "Yes," he finally admitted.

"Is this person a woman?" the centaur asked, scrutinising Draco's face.

"Yes," Draco replied again, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

Firenze nodded his head as if he already knew the answer. "Is she close to you?"

"...No." Draco hesitated.

Firenze wrinkled his nose at what he believed to be an obvious lie. "Does her being in danger agitate you?"

"Are you just going to follow up every question with another question?" Draco barked at the professor, who simply stared him down until he relented. "Yes," he finally answered and sighed.

The centaur swished his tail and smiled smugly. "Do you share the same dreams?"

Draco's face visibly paled. "Yes, but how did you—"

"What you are speaking of is a magical bond," Firenze pointed out, interrupting the puzzled-looking blond.

"Magical bond?" Draco asked, shaking his head. "I have heard of it but read nothing that explains it."

"That is because it is somewhat Taboo," the professor explained. "It is not something that is readily accepted in or endorsed by modern day wizarding society."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked. He wished the centaur would hurry up and just get to the bloody point.

"I cannot go into the specifics of it for it has always been a human practice. Centaurs never paid much thought to it," he said, shaking his head at the silly notions and practices of humans. "All I can tell you is that to create a magical bond with another is to form an ever-lasting commitment."

"Ever-lasting?" The word seemed to stir a feeling of dread in Draco.

"It was a ritual that went beyond death," the palomino explained. "It saused…complications." He furrowed his brow. "It is a very dangerous form of magic that was banned hundreds of years ago."

Draco swallowed hard and frowned. "Do you think that I have a magical bond with this girl?"

The centaur laughed condescendingly. "No, you wouldn't know how to perform such an act. The specifics of the bondage spell were destroyed long ago." He shook his head. "I think what you are experiencing is merely coincidence. The fact that you are dwelling on it is most likely due to stress."

"Stress. Yeah. Maybe." Draco nodded his head mechanically at the centaur. It was true that he had been under a lot of stress lately. "And what about always running into the same person or having her run into you?" he asked, making his way to the door. "What's that? Chance?"

Firenze smiled. "Chance is just another word for fate."

**xXx**

Draco made his way back up to the ground level and stopped directly behind a statue. He bent over, mentally exhausted, and re-knotted his laces, which had come undone. As he worked on his shoes, his mind began to meander back to his brief conversation with the centaur. The professor's words of enlightenment only seemed to add to Draco's overall confusion. He could believe that his dreams manifested themselves physically if his subconscious mind allowed it, but this could not explain his sharing of experiences with the Weasley girl.

"Ginny, wait up!"

Draco's head shot up to see Potter sprinting down the hall. Chance, fate, fortune, coincidence, or whatever you'd call it, had him here at the top of the stairs witnessing The Boy Who Lived To Annoy Him chasing after the little She-Weasel.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked, looking tired and put out. "I have to get to class."

"I—well—uh—we never got to talk much over the holidays," he started, looking bashful. "I never got to ask you about how you were doing. You know, after you and Dean broke up."

Draco frowned. He forgot that she had been dating that other Gryffindor Quidditch player. Why did Potter care to discuss that with her? Was he angling for a date? His eyes narrowed on the scar-faced boy, watching him approach the little redhead with ease.

"Yeah," Ginny agreed, her eyes twinkling in the light.

Draco assumed the glimmer in her eyes was hope. This is what she wanted, wasn't it—the great hero Potter to show interest in her?

"I was wondering if you would like to..." Harry paused nervously. "With me, that is..."

"With you, what?" she asked.

Draco was positive that there was a sound of longing in her voice.

"Would you like to go to one of Slughorn's parties some time?" he asked, swallowing hard. "Together? W-with me, that is."

Ginny's eyes seemed to brighten at his proposal, and she smiled at him. "Of course, Harry. Sure," she said, and Harry beamed at her in response.

Draco swore loudly under his breath and turned around. _I don't need to see any more of this_, he thought to himself with disgust and took off down the corridor towards the Entrance Hall, robes billowing.

**xXx**

Draco stormed into his room, livid and enraged. He ripped his robes off in a vain attempt to rid himself of the vileness that he felt. Snarling like a wild beast, he threw them to the floor in disgust. His eyes darted about the room, frantically searching for something tactile to assuage his rising temper. He finally located what he was looking for and grabbed the vase off his desk: the nearest heavy object in sight. He forcefully pitched it across the room, watching it smash against the wall and obliterate it into tiny shards of porcelain.

He sprang forward with an adrenalin surge of strength and energy and brutally threw his arm across the desk, spilling quills and parchment onto the floor. He then flipped the solid mahogany table onto its back. Inkpots crashed and shattered into a thousand pieces with black ink flying up into the air, splattering violent images on the walls.

"Damn you, Harry-_Fucking_-Potter!" Draco screamed vehemently, kicking his chair out and lunging for it. He picked it up with both his hands and then smashed it to the ground, splintering the wood as it sickeningly cracked apart and gave way.

His damp hair hung limply in his eyes. His brow was sticky with sweat. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed raggedly. His heart was pounding wildly. He frothed at the mouth as he kicked the remnants of the chair away from him. He was livid, simply put.

Draco then stepped over to his dresser to look for more items to demolish and destroy with his bare hands, for his anger was palpable, and he badly needed this tangible release.

"Fuck!" he screamed again, knocking pictures and priceless vases onto the floor.

Anything that wasn't nailed to the ground or two hundred pounds too heavy was crushed into oblivion or turned over on its side. Only one last breakable item remained: the Dreamless Sleeping Draught that the red-haired witch had made for him.

He picked it up and gripped it tightly in his hand. He breathed heavily, eyeing the crystal ampoule with venom and contempt. Perhaps he had exerted himself to his physical limit, or perhaps he was just too tired to care, but he could not bring himself to destroy her gift. Instead, he gently placed it back down on the heavy dresser next to the common room entrance and stood back, staring at it.

Draco sighed and felt his shoulders sag forward. He turned around and headed towards his bed. He fell gracelessly onto the mattress and rolled over onto his back, lying on top of the covers. He was still breathing hard, and his heart was beating quickly. His anger had been somewhat appeased and lessened by his spectacular display of temper. The tantrum had begun to make him sleepy, so he closed his eyes and let himself be taken over by sleep, hoping that when he woke, he would discover that the entire day had just been a horrible nightmare.

—Thump—

"Who's it?" Draco mumbled, half-asleep, woken from his slumber.

He sat up and fumbled for his wand, finding it beside him, and trained it on the intruder.

"Who's there?" he asked again, his eyes trying to focus in the darkness.

He looked over to the common room door and saw the looming shadow of a figure standing between the closed door and his dresser. His eyes had still not adjusted to the darkness, and he could only see the outline of a person standing perfectly still in his room.

Draco would not give this stranger warning. "_Deprimo_!" he shouted, aiming his wand at the trespasser.

A violent gust of wind began to pick up the broken objects in his room, launching them at dangerous speeds towards the interloper.

"_Finite Incantatem_," the stranger said softly, lowly, causing the shards of glass and wood to immediately drop to the floor.

Draco was about to shout another spell when he was disarmed.

"Settle down, Draco," the familiar voice demanded calmly, and a figure stepped out into the faux light that emanated from the conjured window. "It's just me."

Draco's immediately recognised the golden eyes and the striking dark features. His look of confusion and shock was quickly replaced with that of outrage

"Blaise? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Draco asked, and then looked down at tall Slytherin's hand, seeing something clenched inside it. "What have you got there in your hand?"

"This?" Blaise asked casually, holding up a small crystal phial. "Oh, I thought I'd pick up some of your more breakable possessions before they became less breakable and more broken."

"How uncharacteristically gracious of you," Draco replied, scowling. His eyes narrowed on the suspicious-looking boy. "What are you doing with the potion?" He pointed to the crystal bottle.

Blaise looked down at it in his hand. "I thought I would test it."

"Test it?" Draco asked sceptically.

"You know, to see if it's off," he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Draco stared blankly at his mate.

"I mean, look at yourself, Draco," Blaise said, shaking his head ruefully. "You're not right. You haven't been since you started taking this stuff."

"And you are going to…?" Draco cocked an eyebrow questioningly in the air.

"Make sure it isn't poison," Blaise replied, nodding.

"Poison?" Draco asked with obvious doubt laced in his voice, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You never know." Blaise quickly took the defensive. "Listen, this Weasley girl decides to make you some potion, and you, in your infinite wisdom, blindly accept it." He scoffed. "I mean how can _you_ accept something offered by a Gryffindor?"

Draco was unconvinced. "So far," he said, clearing his throat, "she has done nothing to make me wholly distrust her, unlike _you_."

Draco briefly thought back to the memories of the Weasley girl flirting with Potter in the halls earlier that day and the wand duel that they'd had the day before. He frowned and tried his utmost to fight back the mental images.

"She is also exceptionally gifted at Potions," he continued. "You have heard Slughorn and even Snape comment on this."

Blaise shrugged his shoulders indifferently. For someone playing the defensive, he didn't seem to care all that much. He was putting no effort whatsoever into his act, which made Draco wonder why Blaise had put on an act to begin with.

"This is not the real issue at hand though, is it?" Draco asked slowly.

Blaise lowered his head. "Okay, mate. Okay," he said, sounding defeated, as he brought his hands up in surrender. "I just don't trust her. She's up to something."

Draco finally got up from his bed and laughed. "That's a laugh!" He sneered. "For someone you don't trust, you hang out with her quite an awful lot," he said with a hint of jealousy. "You have spent more time with her in these past few months than you have with anyone else in Slytherin for a year!"

Blaise's response to this was to grin sheepishly. "Well, you know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"Oh, bollocks to that rubbish!" Draco shouted, rounding on his mate. "Don't spew your bloody proverbs at me."

"Alright, alright!" Blaise admitted, glaring indignantly at the fairer-haired Slytherin. "I was keeping an eye on her for you while she was doing that potions project. Couldn't have her attach your name to something that wasn't anything less than stellar, could I?" He tried to look like he was affronted by Draco's slander on his character.

"How noble and altruistic of you to look out for me, Zabini," Draco commented dryly. "Especially when I never asked you to. How uncharacteristic of a Slytherin and of _you_. You never do anything for anyone other than yourself, Blaise, so I don't believe one word of this tripe you're serving me. And even if I did, Weasley finished that project months ago. What exactly do you need to keep an eye on her now for?"

Blaise opened his mouth to retort, but Draco stopped him.

"Don't bother with another excuse!" he spat. "The ones you have been giving me tonight are hopelessly pathetic. You're putting absolutely no effort into your lies, Blaise, and it's insulting." Draco truly did look affronted while the taller Slytherin scowled at him with open contempt. "We both know that you can talk your way in and out of anything, Zabini. So what gives?"

Blaise's countenance softened, and he lowered his shoulders in defeat. "Can't pull one over on you, can I, Draco? I guess I had better fess up." He lifted his chin and sighed dramatically. "I'm infatuated with the Weasley girl."

An awkward silence filled the room, separating the two boys with a thick air of doubt.

"I don't need Veritaserum or perform Legilimency to know that you are _lying_," Draco hissed in an unnaturally low voice.

Blaise shrugged his shoulders, once again seeming indifferent to the whole matter. He was a contradiction in terms tonight. Normally, lies could slide off his tongue like melted butter on a cold, steel knife. He truly wasn't trying. He was purposely lying to him and expecting to be caught for it. Why?

"Honestly, you are not even trying!" Draco threw his hands up in the air. "Why you are even bothering at all is what I want to know. Why keep on with these sodding lies?" The blond sighed and shook his head. "I know you don't like Ginevra like that."

"Oh, it's 'Ginevra' now, is it?" Blaise remarked facetiously.

"Shut it!" Draco yelled, walking over to dark-skinned boy. "Right there is another example." He pointed a finger directly at Blaise's chest. "I swear you only talk about her or hang around her to infuriate me, to make me jealous." Draco turned away and began to pace. He then walked back over to the tall, dark Slytherin and redirected his accusing finger at him. "I have no idea _why_ you are even doing this, why you are always around when she and I—"

Draco abruptly ended his tirade and suddenly looked up at Blaise in horror. His finger was still pointed at his chest.

"You're always around," he said in a hushed whisper, reality quickly sinking in.

"Pardon me?"

"Whenever something strange happens," Draco continued, his eyes widening. "Whenever I have my hallucinations or Weasley and I have our dreams you're…you're there!"

"I think you have been spending too much time—"

"The robes!" he exclaimed, cutting Blaise off. "You were the one who found them outside, after the dream. You gave them to me! H-how would you have known to look around the grounds?"

Blaise simply stared at Draco, who began to pace once more. The darker-looking Slytherin's face was inscrutable.

"Always turning up in my room, somehow getting inside locked doors," Draco added, his mouth ajar in wonder. Then clarity suddenly hit him as subtly as a tonne of bricks. "You're that boy!"

"Boy?" Blaise asked, looking genuinely confused. "What boy?"

"You're the boy with the _golden_ eyes!" Draco cried, smacking his palm to his forehead in understanding. "Oh gods, how could I have been so blind, so stupid?"

"I could wager a guess," Blaise replied, folding his arms over his broad chest.

"I couldn't see you fully," Draco mused to himself out loud, "but I _knew_ that there was something familiar about it all, and that's because he was _you_!" He looked up at his best friend as though for the first time. "A boy with golden-coloured eyes." Draco stepped closer and looked up at Blaise with wonder and curiosity. "You were the one who warned me not to write in the diary."

Blaise looked down at Draco, staring into his uncharacteristically wide and inquisitive eyes. After a moment, he relented, letting out a protracted sigh. "Yes, Draco. It was I."

Draco snapped his fingers and almost grinned. "I knew it was you!" he exclaimed triumphantly, and then his countenance darkened. "Why?" He suddenly became suspicious. "Who sent you?"

Blaise turned his head and looked down at the shattered pieces of porcelain, china, and glass that littered the floor. "I came to warn you about the book and its evil," he explained softly, making his way towards the window. "I was sent by someone who was looking out for you. I was there to watch over you."

"B-But why?" Draco asked, stepping closer but keeping his distance. He was suddenly very wary of his best mate.

"You were not supposed to write in the book," Blaise replied, sounding somewhat exasperated as he lowered his head and brought his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. "It was an evil object, created out of dark magic. By opening yourself up to it, you were opening yourself up to Voldemort."

"How?"

"The diary was a Horcrux," Blaise explained, lowering his hand.

"Whore-a-what?" Draco asked, confused.

"A HOR-crux," he emphasised, shaking his head. "It is old magic—very dark." He saw the look of confusion in Draco's eyes. "It is a spell that allows for a part of your soul to be divided and taken from your body to be placed in an object. The spell to achieve this goal, I will not divulge; however, I will tell you that in order to split your soul, you must commit a terrible and evil act."

The grey-eyed Slytherin looked up at Blaise expectantly, waiting for the answer.

"Murder," Blaise finished softly.

Draco frowned. "So the diary—"

"Was a part of Voldemort's soul," Blaise answered.

"Then why is it I felt like a piece of myself—my soul—went into the book when I wrote in it?" he asked. "Did the Weasley girl do the same?"

Blaise shook his head. "You cannot place _your_ soul in a book that is already someone else's Horcrux," he explained. "In order to create your own Horcrux, you would have had to commit murder. Since neither you nor Ginevra have killed, it is impossible for either of you to divide your soul and safe house it in _any_ object." He shook his head. "You did, however, offer a piece of yourself to the book, a sacrifice that the Horcrux desired. Just as Ginevra had to offer her energy and innocence to Riddle, you offered him a part of your feelings."

Draco shook his head, unconvinced. "But when I am near her, I can feel something—a connection. It feels like there is a part of me inside her." He looked up, his eyes narrowed and fixed. "This had to have been the book's doing!"

Blaise chortled softly, almost patronisingly at Draco. "A book, enchanted or not, could not make you feel this way, feel a connection on such a level." He smiled. "It does not control you. It could have, at one point, like it did Ginevra, but it is destroyed now. It cannot harm anyone any more." Blaise shook his head. "Riddle's diary was a Horcrux, but it was his own. Yes, it was marked by and cursed with dark magic, but not in a way that would create a magical bond between two entirely different people." He sighed. "The book was meant to _take_, not to give."

"Then why—how…" Draco paused. "Why are she and I connected so?"

"Your souls are kindred," Blaise explained as though it was common knowledge. "You and Ginevra are the reason why I am here."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked cautiously, backing away. "Who are you?" He swallowed hard, furtively looking about the room for his wand.

Blaise laughed as he watched Draco draw away from him in trepidation, vainly searching for his wand. His laugh was warm, but his eyes were cruel and menacing. He loomed over Draco like a dark shadow.

"Who do you think I am, Draco?" he asked cryptically, his voice low, sending shivers down Draco's spine.

Unable to locate his wand, Draco thought back to the conversation he had with the centaur earlier, and his eyes widened in terror. "You are an immortal," he breathed, "a controller of dreams!"

Blaise shook his head and rose to his full height, appearing instantly regal, as he looked down at the shocked, fair-haired Slytherin.

"My name is Morpheus, Draco, and I _am_ the god of dreams."

**xXx**

**Author notes**: Dun dun dun! So this is the part where I think I will leave and take a three-year long hiatus! ;) (Just kidding!)

_Kismet_ is Turkish for karma, fate, destiny, etc. Many thanks to **Cadaverous Apples **for beta-ing this chapter.

**Spells and plant names**:

_mimbulus mimbletonia_ – a very rare plant, native to Assyria, that resembles a grey cactus, but with boils where the spines would have been. Neville was given this plant as a present from his Great Uncle Algie on his fifteenth birthday (GF and OotP).

_Devil's Snare_ – a plant that uses its tendrils to ensnare anyone who touches it, binding their arms and legs and eventually choking them. The harder a person struggles against Devil's Snare, the more faster and more tightly it binds them; if they relax, it will not kill them as quickly. Devil's Snare prefers a dark, damp environment and shrinks away from fire, so a well-placed flame spell such as "bluebell flames", will drive it away from its victims (PS). (For my creative license, I had the baby form of Devil's Snare be a bit more animated and agile, lunging out with its vines/creepers).

_Ginger_ – used to cure nausea and dizziness.

_Confringo – '_to break in pieces, to bring to naught'. Causes anything that the spell meets to explode in flames.

_Conjunctivitus – _a curse that causes great pain to the victim's eyes.

_Impedimenta_ – 'a hindrance' or 'an impediment'. This powerful spell is capable of tripping, freezing, binding, knocking back and generally impeding the target's progress towards the caster.

_Oppugno –_ causes conjured items to attack. In this case, Ginny used it to make the Devil's Snare (something non-conjured) attack. Since the Imperius Curse can only control humans, I decided to make the Oppungo spell control animals and plants. (Yes, I took liberty, yet again).

_Duro_ – 'make hard'. Turns its target to stone.

_Furunculus_ – 'boil', as in blister. Causes the target to become covered in boils.

_Colloportus – _spell that functions as a counter to _Alohomora_ by locking a door.

_Nettle _– used to cur boils.

_Deprimo_ – 'dig deep'. A very powerful wind that can loosen and/or soften a variety of things, as well as detach things and send them flying.

_Finite Incantatem _– 'to put an end to enchantment'. It negates many spells or the effects of many spells.


	11. Someone Worth Saving

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Eleven: Someone Worth Saving_

"My name is Morpheus, Draco, and I _am_ the god of dreams."

Draco stumbled backwards, bumping his leg into the edge of the bed. Dumbfounded, he abruptly took a seat and looked up at the dark, looming figure that stood above him, wondering how one comes to terms with the fact that one's best mate is a god. Unable to do so, Draco simple stared at Blaise. _No_. Morpheus. There was no point in deluding himself into thinking that there was any humanity in those bright golden eyes.

"You're a—" Draco couldn't complete his own statement.

"God?" Blaise asked in a deep baritone voice, a dark eyebrow raised in the air. "Yes." He nodded his head in affirmation. "More specifically, I am the god of dreams."

Draco shook his head, looking away from his friend, or whom he thought was his friend. Why would a god be here talking with him, haunting him with dreams?

"I deliver dreams—inspiration—to heroes," Blaise explained, as though reading Draco's mind, and the blond was hesitant to question whether he had.

"Heroes?" Draco managed to croak out, still unable to look the tall, dark-haired god in the eyes.

"Loose term, really," Blaise stated casually. "Originally, I came to nobility—the lords and ladies of the land—to give them direction and guidance." His face appeared solemn in the dim light of the room. "I highlight the path of the righteous, to give him or her goals and ambition."

Draco swallowed hard and looked up into Blaise's eyes, frowning. "So I am a hero?" he asked, a dubious expression plastered across his pale, pointed face.

Blaise snorted. "You could be..." He waved his hand then paused, his stoic-like features subtly morphing into a look of amusement, offering a glimpse of his former human-self. "Funny, I thought you were going to ask if you were nobility."

Now it was Draco's turn to snort. "I already _knew_ that."

"Touché," Blaise retorted softly, a wry grin on his face. "Trust Draco Malfoy to maintain an air of superiority whilst conversing with a god."

"Why are you here?" Draco asked impatiently, ignoring Blaise's comment.

"I swore an oath to fulfil a request," Blaise replied. "To make you and Ginevra see certain…things."

"The Weasley girl and I?" the blond asked with evident incredulity in his voice. "Seriously, what were we meant to see?"

Blaise opened his mouth to reply when Draco cut him off with another question.

"Were they real?" he asked, his upper lip twitching slightly. He knew what he saw in his dreams, and he did not like them one bit.

"Were the dreams real?" Blaise asked in return and chortled softly. "Obviously not."

Draco scowled, breathing air out through his nose. He did not find this to be a laughing matter. "What I mean is…" He paused. "Was all of this pure fantasy? Did you make _everything_ up?"

Draco had no clue what these dreams meant. Could this immortal have conjured the feelings he had begun to feel towards the redhead?

"No," Blaise responded firmly. "My dreams are not meant to trick you, Draco. That's my brother's job." The golden-eyed god cracked a smile, and Draco stared through him, unblinking, uncomprehending. "Right, I thought you'd catch on to that one..." Blaise cleared his throat and frowned, knowing that his humourless mate was impatient for answers. "I am the one who controlled both your dreams. I made you see her dreams, and I made you have…hallucinations."

Draco's eyes narrowed into mercury slits. "So you were the one in my mind, answering my questions?" the grey-eyed blond asked, octaves rising.

"Obviously," Blaise rejoined bluntly. "Draco, sometimes you are really not that perceptive."

Draco rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "I do apologise, Blaise," he drawled the name with irritation, "or Morpheus or whoever the bloody hell you are. I get slightly distracted when gods decide to enter my head and have at play."

The Slytherin prince did not look impressed.

"It wasn't fun," Blaise admitted quietly, his countenance somewhat softening to look more like a Hogwarts student and less a god. "You didn't make it easy for me, if that makes you feel any better." He lowered his eyes in a haughty manner and shrugged. "That little Dreamless Potion made my task rather difficult."

Draco stood up and lifted his palms in supplication. "Yes, thank you, Blaise. That makes me feel _loads_ better. I'm all good now," he responded facetiously, scowling up at the golden-eyed boy.

Blaise merely smiled down rather condescendingly at Draco, who silently boiled, threatening to spill over.

"So what else have you done?" Draco asked suddenly, rounding on the taller Slytherin. "Are you the one who changed my password?"

"I don't need a password to get in here," Blaise responded flatly.

"I thought your powers were limited to the dream world?"

Blaise seemed to growl at this and rose up to full height, commanding attention the way only a god could. "I'm still a _god_, Draco," he replied in that deep baritone voice of his. "I can do many things outside of the dream world." His eyes grew dark. "And I don't need a wand to perform 'magic'."

Draco frowned, pausing, and looked about his room. "...So you can go anywhere you want in the school without being detected?" he asked in a low voice. "You can make me think that I am going mental?" He glared at the god. "You did this with the Weasley girl too?"

Blaise shook his head. "I didn't get in her head in quite the same fashion as I did with you, but yes." He smacked his lips distastefully. "With her I could be much more subtle, take advantage while she was distracted, make her wander into certain areas—"

"Couldn't be subtle with me, huh?" Draco interjected acerbically.

"No..." Blaise responded slowly, as his lips began to curl upwards. "Draco, getting you to notice Ginevra Weasley required finesse the likes of flashing neon lights, a naked conga line, and Chinese fireworks. I'm afraid that anything less than the subtleness of brick being lobbed at your head would have not sufficed."

"You know, Blaise—Morpheus," Draco began, scowling, "I have _never_ liked your sense of humour, and I hate it even more now knowing _what_ you are."

The dream god's countenance darkened, and he drew himself up once more, towering above the grey-eyed blond. "One would think you would take that as a cue to be much more cordial towards me, Draco," Blaise said darkly. "And I am not a 'what'; I am a 'who'. I was born Blaise Zabini. I am not inhabiting this body nor is this a form or some sort of ruse." His eyes softened, and his body relaxed. "I am your friend, Draco."

"Friend?" Draco responded, half-laughing, half-growling the word.

He didn't know who was his friend any more or if what Blaise was saying was even true. He spotted his enchanted coin on the bedside cabinet near his bed and began to subtly walk towards it.

"So, you're human then?" he asked, trying to distract the taller Slytherin.

"In the technical sense of the word, yes," he responded, frowning. "It is complicated, and I'd rather not get into the specifics of it right now." He eyed the blond, who had been inching his way towards the bed, and clenched his hand into a fist. "All I can say is that no manner of spell you wish to conjure upon me, including _Avada Kedavra_, is going to work on me. Nor can you control me in any manner so put that coin _down_, Draco!"

Blaise's voice boomed in Draco's ears. Cowed by the god's commanding voice that sent shockwaves throughout his body, Draco immediately sat down on the bed.

"I understand that you are upset, Draco, and that you feel betrayed," Blaise said gently. "Believe me. I did not ask for this task, nor do I like what I have been indebted to do." He lowered his head and unclenched his fist.

"And what is that?" Draco asked once he had regained his voice.

Blaise looked Draco up and down as if contemplating whether to trust him with such information. He folded his arms across his broad chest and sighed. "I am here to show you possibilities—of what could happen, of what has happened, and of what is meant to be," he answered cryptically. "Or none of the above." He narrowed his eyes on the blond. "Perhaps I am only here to open a few doors..."

"What do you mean by that?" Draco asked, raising his voice, as he shook his head. "I don't get it. All you have shown is me snogging the littlest Weasley. Is that my _possibility_?" The scepticism and disgust in his voice was undeniable. "Shagging the redhead, yeah? How does that make me a hero?" He turned up his hand, lifting it towards Blaise. "I mean, if she was the last pure-blood alive, and we needed to conserve our race and repopulate—"

"You think that is what the dreams portend, Draco? Hormonal lust?" The golden-eyed god chortled loudly. "You assume that I have manufactured every image, made you see what _I_ wanted you to see?"

Draco glanced up.

Blaise shook his head. "No, Draco. I have only directed certain aspects of your dreams," he explained. "I not only make you see the what ifs, but I show you what you _want_ to see…" He paused and let the ghost of a smirk cross his dark features. "Let's just say that you provide the canvas, and I simply paint."

"What do you mean by that?" Draco felt like he was asking the same questions over and over.

"The images are not what are important," Blaise tried to explain, exasperated with the blond. "It is the feelings of déjà vu associated with them."

Draco continued to stare at Blaise, causing the dark-haired Slytherin to shake his head in frustration and annoyance.

"Never mind," Blaise said impatiently, waving his hands in front of his face. "Listen, I cannot make you feel what you feel inside. I only show you what you want to see. More times than not, I only use what is already in your head, in your conscience." He tented his fingers together and brought them to his lips. "For example, Ginevra has suffered nightmares for quite some time. She had one last night, in fact. She created her own setting, her own characters. I merely came in and gave her a nudge..." He paused. "Maybe I handed her a knife."

"You got her to _cut_ me!" Draco shouted, leaping forward.

"Well, I couldn't get through to you in your dreams any more since you were taking that blasted potion," Blaise retorted, rolling his eyes.

Draco took a menacing step towards the taller Slytherin, and the dream god narrowed his eyes and pointed at the bed behind the blond.

"Sit _down_," he said darkly.

Draco immediately fumbled back and sat down on the mattress. If he wasn't so sure that Blaise had _not_ put him under the Imperius Curse, he would have felt less humbled than he did right now. Not even his father made him react so quickly and obediently with a simple command.

"You're not getting my point, Draco," Blaise continued, his voice still deep and authoritative.

"...And what would that be?" Draco finally asked, his heartbeat slowing back down to a normal rhythm.

"I was able to control her dreams, direct her actions," Blaise explained, turning to look down at Draco. "But how was I able to get her to hurt you physically in her dream?" The corner of his lips twitched upward into a grin.

Draco frowned. How should he know? He figured that Blaise knew the answer but was unwilling to tell. Prat.

"You can make us lose track of time, make us have headaches," Draco answered, listing possible reasons. "You can get in our minds!"

Blaise grinned at this. "Yes, I can—individually or simultaneously," he boasted. "I can't, however, make her _physically_ hurt you in her dreams."

Draco stood up, frustrated and annoyed. He had enough of this cryptic talk. Why couldn't he just answer him plainly?

"Why are you here, _Morpheus_?" he asked with disdain, emphasising the god's name. "What are you doing here? What is the purpose of all of this?" He wanted answers. He deserved them.

Blaise frowned and shook his head. "I can't tell you, Draco. I swore an oath that I cannot break."

Draco cursed under his breath and made his way towards the exit. He had enough of this. He had to get away.

"All I can tell you is to follow your heart, _not_ your head," Blaise called out. "The answers will come, Draco. Right now you have to trust that everything happens for a reason."

"Fate?" Draco snorted, having had this conversation twice in one day. He opened the door and stepped outside. "I have had about enough of this fate crap!"

Draco slammed the door shut and disappeared into the hallway.

**xXx**

Ginny clutched blindly at her sheets and shot up from her bed in the black darkness of her room. She was breathing hard and trembling. Her body was covered with a thin film of cold sweat, causing her to shake uncontrollably. She felt panicked and caged. Unfamiliar feelings of revulsion and guilt washed over her like waves crashing down on a desolate shore. She felt bile rise to her throat and vainly tried to swallow it down. There was no stopping the inevitable: she was going to be sick.

Something wasn't right.

Suddenly, she leaned over her bed and heaved the contents of her dinner onto the wooden floor. Bringing a trembling hand to her mouth, Ginny wiped the spittle from her lips and groaned. Remnants of her dream flashed and fragmented in her mind like cracks of lightning bolts flashing across a horizon.

_"Prove your power, Ginevra," Tom said, holding a small silver dagger out to her. _

Her eyes widened, remembering the feel of the cold, solid hilt in her hand.

_She brought the tip of the knife to his neck. "Forgive me."_

She threw her head over the side of the bed and dry heaved, gagging on air. What had she done?

She had taken a knife to Malfoy's neck and _cut_ him! Tom had given her the dagger, egged her on.

Ginny paused. Why?

This wasn't the Tom Riddle from her dreams. He had never asked her to do something like this before. She knew that she was still connected to Riddle on some level, but he had never goaded her like this before. And if this _was_ his doing, why not use her to hurt Harry instead? Why Draco Malfoy?

_"I need to know," she said aloud, remembering what Malfoy had told her earlier about dreams and how they can sometimes physically manifest themselves on the dreamer._

If she needed to know if it was real, why did she not try to cut herself? Why Malfoy? None of it made any sense.

She wanted to prove to Riddle, to Voldemort, that _she_ controlled her life. Did she tell him this because she wanted him to know, or was there something more? There was something so familiar about putting the blade to Malfoy's throat; there was something melancholic about the pain in her heart when she asked him for forgiveness. It was like a latent memory, a word on the tip of your tongue, struggling to be free—then gone.

Folding back the covers and turning towards the edge of the bed, Ginny scooted down towards the foot and rose to her feet. She would have to get her wand to clean up this mess and then wash up. After sanitising the floor, she finally made her way into the common room then into the girls' lavatory. She walked up to the sink and turned on the faucet, cupping her hands underneath to catch the water. She splashed the cold liquid on her face and rinsed out her mouth. As she glanced up at the mirror, Ginny took in her reflection: her eyes were tired and gaunt; she was unnaturally pale and thin. Her usual shiny auburn hair was plastered against her face with sweat.

_Why did I cut Malfoy and not myself?_ she asked herself again.

She still could not wrap her head around the concept. Did she actually hurt Malfoy? If this was Voldemort's intent, perhaps she should go check on the grey-eyed Slytherin, to see if he was okay.

Ginny shook her head. Draco's father, Lucius, was a Death Eater. Why would Voldemort wish to punish the son of his follower? Had Draco defied Voldemort? No, that couldn't be.

She thought back to the Christmas holidays and the many overheard conversations between the Trio. Harry had said that he thought he had seen Malfoy make a fuss about his forearm while in Madam Malkin's and Blotts. Had she seen anything wrong with his arm? Ginny blushed several shades of pink, recalling the last and only time she had seen Malfoy completely topless. He was wearing a bracer of some sort. She had thought nothing of it at the time. Could this bracer be hiding something? Could it be hiding the Mark?

In a daze, Ginny finally ambled her way back to her room and got back under the covers. Did she really think that Draco had the Dark Mark? No. He couldn't have it. He was too young to receive it, wasn't he?

_What if he has it? What if he's a Death Eater?_ Ginny asked herself, as her eyes slowly started to slide shut.

She had found herself starting to tolerate Draco, maybe even 'like' him, bar the wand duel that they had the other day. She truly hoped that he was not like his father. Admittedly, Ginny saw something in the brooding Slytherin: someone worth saving.

**xXx**

"Please have a seat, Mister Zabini," Dumbledore said formerly to the dark-haired Slytherin, motioning to one of the high back leather chairs in front of his desk.

After Blaise's awkward conversation with Draco earlier, he had retired to his room. Not long after, Fawkes, Dumbledore's familiar, delivered him a message, summoning him to the headmaster's office. Blaise had not wanted to meet with the old coot, but protocol was protocol and oaths—oaths were promises not meant to be broken.

"Do we really need such formalities here, Albus?" Blaise asked, slightly annoyed as he took a seat.

He rather hated being a teenager and having to be respectful towards his 'elders' and 'peers', men and women who were not even the equivalent of infants in his eyes. He especially disliked being treated this way by Albus Dumbledore, a wizard who knew exactly _who_ Blaise Zabini truly was.

"I believe there is always a need for politeness," Dumbledore rejoined, smiling.

Yes, he really did dislike mortals. He didn't need to be humbled. He was a god.

"Why did you summon me?" Blaise asked abruptly, rubbing at his eyes, wishing to extricate himself from this painful meeting with the aged sage.

A fleeting look of annoyance passed over Dumbledore's face but then quickly vanished. "I wish to talk to you about the conversation you just had with young Draco an hour ago," he replied, eyes twinkling.

Blaise's eyebrows furrowed, and his lips curved downward into a frown. "Spying, Albus?" He was not sure how the dodgy wizard was able to eavesdrop on his conversation with Draco without him knowing.

"No, of course not," Dumbledore answered, still smiling. "I like to ensure my students' privacy."

Blaise crossed his arms over his chest and stared through the headmaster until he finally spoke up again.

"I had your name made Taboo. Your _real_ name, that is," Dumbledore explained, his characteristic smile still hanging on his weathered face.

Blaise scowled, letting the aspect of his human side take over. He wanted nothing more than to smite the meddling white-haired mortal in front of him.

"You do not trust me then?" Blaise asked, giving the old wizard a look that could kill (and, in most cases, probably did).

"That is not it at all, my dear friend," Dumbledore replied, his smile faltering momentarily. Sometimes he forgot that the school boy before him was just a façade. He was, in fact, dealing with a god—a rather tolerant one at that, so far. "It was for my own insurance purposes."

Blaise's countenance remained impassive yet deadly. "Insurance against Voldemort, I presume," he replied, and Dumbledore nodded his head.

"Yes, I couldn't take the chance that he or one of his underlings would find out about my plans and Draco's. Mister Malfoy is not the only Death Eater on campus."

Dumbledore had suspected for quite some time that Draco had been initiated. He never asked Blaise to confirm it, although he was quite sure that he could.

"Yes," Blaise said in an annoyed fashion, clearing his throat. "You needn't worry about any of the dullards around here discovering my identity or my relevance in the scheme of things."

Blaise had quickly come to realise that the students of Hogwarts were rather unobservant and far too caught up in their own silly teenage dramas to notice anything or anyone else outside their own little cliques. None of them would be made aware of his presence lest he chose it so.

"I am aware of that, but there is nothing wrong with being prudent," Dumbledore stated simply, smiling broadly as he stood up and wiped at his robes. "So, do you want to tell me what you and Mister Malfoy discussed? I know you did not break your oath, but your name was obviously mentioned, and I would like to know why and in regards to what."

Blaise rolled his eyes and began to tap is fingers on the armrest of his chair in an annoyed fashion. "I told Draco who I am and that I am here because of him," he answered in a blasé manner.

Dumbledore faltered for a moment, openly scowling at the tall, golden-eyed god. "You did not hint about his and Miss Weasley's importance, did you?" he asked warningly.

"No," Blaise replied, scowling in turn, annoyed at how impudent these wizard mortals could be. "Your silly notion remains secret with me."

The white-haired sage pursed his lips in silent contemplation and nodded his head in resignation. "So how is your mission progressing then?" he asked, moving on to other matters.

Blaise took in a deep breath and folded his hands on his lap. "Ginevra's dreams are much harder to penetrate as she is still affected by Voldemort," he replied, tilting his head in a nonchalant manner.

Dumbledore frowned. "Does Riddle, himself, actually frequent her dreams then?"

"No," Blaise replied, shaking his head. "It is just a ripple effect from the previous possession and a side effect from merging with the Horcrux." The golden-eyed god furrowed his brow. "Unknowingly and arrogantly, he presumed to wield such ancient and powerful magics without fully comprehending their potential _and_ their consequences." He laughed somewhat condescendingly, causing Dumbledore to frown. "He did not even realise that he unwittingly created a connection with her. He is completely unaware of her significance."

"And Draco?" Dumbledore asked with hope in his voice.

"My progress with him was somewhat impeded by the Dreamless Potion, which is why I had to confront him," Blaise explained, sighing, and then waved his hand in annoyance. "Potter was never this difficult."

Dumbledore nodded his head in agreement. "Severus must have helped Draco with the Dreamless Draught." The dodgy warlock then shook his head and grinned to himself.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at this. Astute as the former Potions master was, he doubted that he had uncovered Dumbledore's plan. He might be suspicious at best. He figured that it was a fortunate 'trait' for Severus Snape to possess whilst working with someone like Albus Dumbledore.

"Everything is going according to plan," Blaise said with confidence, sitting up in his chair. "It would run even smoother if I could tell Draco more. Perhaps I could even convince him to not follow through with his plans—"

"No!" Dumbledore exclaimed, cutting Blaise off. "Things must carry on as how they are right now."

Blaise inclined his head towards the wizard and tented his fingers together, silently musing. Dumbledore, in turn, nodded his head as though trying to convince himself of his own words. He then looked down at the golden-eyed god and leaned forward.

"They are the ones though, Morpheus, are they not?" he questioned, sounding hopeful.

Blaise slowly nodded. "Yes, they are."

"Good, " Dumbledore replied with a relieved sigh, sat down on the edge of his desk, and shook his head. "Merlin, let us be the only ones to know."

**xXx**

January had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and it was now the bitterest month of cold and of love: February. Valentine's Day had fast-approached the slumbering students of Hogwarts. Red hearts and streamers adorned every hallway and every staircase, forcing each student to recognise the 'holiday' on their way to classes, and Spiked Chocolate Cauldrons had been handed out to all their witless victims.

Draco woke from his restless slumber and yawned, stretching out his stiff limbs. He sat up on the lounge that he had been sleeping on and put his head in his hands. He could have had the Room of Requirement conjure a bed instead of the sofa, but it seemed more fitting for him _not_ to get a decent night's sleep. He needed to remain on edge if he were to accomplish his task.

He had told Crabbe and Goyle to go back to their rooms, which they had readily agreed to. He had finally started talking to them again just before Slughorn's Christmas party. He didn't tell them his complete plan, as he didn't completely trust them. He just informed them to be lookouts in case Potter or his annoying sidekicks came along. He knew that Potter was suspicious, that he was following him. Draco couldn't let the Gryffindor know that he was in the Room of Requirement because anyone could get in. The only problem was that having Crabbe and Goyle keep guard was the equivalent of flashing a neon sign in front of the room that read 'I'm right in here, Potter!'

So, instead of having Vincent and Gregory, he would have to have Vicky and Gretchen, two tiny first-years. Crabbe and Goyle were not impressed, but seeing the two big oafs walk around looking like frightened little girls did amuse Draco immensely. Incidentally, Crabbe seemed to get rather fastidious about what dress he was to wear (it was a school uniform—how could one be finicky?).

Draco picked up the bottle of Dreamless Sleeping Draught that the Weasley girl had made for him. It was empty. He grimaced and pocketed the phial. He would have asked Snape to make him some, but Draco had been avoiding the DADA professor since the incident at Slughorn's party. He simply could not show vulnerability to the man. While Draco was quite skilled at Occlumency, as his aunt Bellatrix had taught him over the summer, Snape was much _much_ better. His aunt had nothing on his Head of House; therefore, Draco could not risk the chance that the sallow-looking Death Eater would penetrate his mind or slip Veritaserum into his tea.

He had considered going to go see if the Weasley girl would make him some more, but he figured she was too caught up in her numerous flings with the boys of her house. Last time he saw her she was busy making moon-eyes at Potter. For all he knew, The Boy Who Pilfered His Leftovers was already sleeping in her bed at night. The thought of Potter's hands on the redhead made his blood boil. Draco wasn't jealous. The Weasley girl was just a plaything, and he wasn't done with her yet. If Potter had touched her though, he wouldn't want her any more. Not that he wanted her to begin with...

He glanced over at the Vanishing Cabinet and sighed. At least he was making some progress in that direction; however, he still hadn't discovered a way to kill Dumbledore, and he had no idea what had even happened to the poisoned mead.

**xXx**

Now, it was the first day of March and not much had changed weather-wise, except maybe there was more wind to go with the wetness. Ginny sat with both Luna and Neville in the library, attempting to study. Neville had been talking about Mandrakes or something to that effect when Luna sighed loudly and turned to look at Ginny.

"Ginny, are you going to the next Slughorn party with anyone?" the petite blonde asked, her cornflower blue eyes trained on the redhead.

"Uh, well, yeah," Ginny answered, swallowing nervously, caught off-guard by the unexpected question from the blonde. "I'm going with Harry."

The redhead grinned sheepishly. She had not wanted to go to a party with Harry or even to Hogsmeade (luckily that trip was cancelled, much to her brother's chagrin). Harry, however, had caught her a month ago, heading towards the Astronomy Tower, and asked her out to one of Slughorn's parties. She had agreed out of relief—relief that he wasn't asking her to be his girlfriend.

"Hey, that's great," Neville said, smiling. "I always thought you and Harry would make a lovely couple." He then blushed and turned his head.

Ginny made a face. "Yes, well we're not a couple," she clarified. "He asked me out a month ago, and I said 'sure'." She threw her arms up in the air. "Merlin, I was willing to say yes to whatever he said as long as he didn't ask me to be his girlfriend." She laughed nervously and put her arms back down.

She just wanted to avoid Harry Potter and the male population (except Neville) in general.

"What do you mean?" Neville asked, nonplussed.

"Ginny likes someone else," Luna stated bluntly, inadvertently answering Neville's question as she pulled an inkpot out of her bag and began to unscrew the top.

Both Ginny and Neville stared at the wistful-looking blonde, mouths ajar. Neville then slowly swivelled back to look at Ginny.

"Is this true, Ginny?"

"I—" Ginny began, her mouth opening and closing.

"She likes Draco Malfoy," Luna interrupted, dipping her quill in the ink, answering Neville's question once again.

"No, I don't!" Ginny hissed at the blonde, wondering what had got into the Ravenclaw.

Neville laughed nervously, thinking it was all a joke. "Ginny liking Malfoy, a Slytherin? Never!" He laughed again for emphasis at the absurdity of Luna's claim.

"There's nothing wrong with liking a Slytherin," Luna said morosely, putting quill to parchment, pausing only to look up past them both. "Do you think Blaise will be at the party?"

Ginny followed Luna's gaze to see the tall, golden-eyed Slytherin sitting at a table towards the back of the library. He was reading a book in his hand, not noticing that he was being watched.

"I dunno..." Ginny replied, pausing. Did Luna have a crush on Blaise? She wasn't sure what to think of that.

"Hmm," Luna hummed, playing with her quill. She then set it down, screwed the top back on the inkpot and began to pack her satchel. "Lunch time!" She smiled brightly at her two mates, her former despondence disappearing entirely.

Ginny and Neville exchanged glances then shrugged, gathering their books and quills. Luna was Luna. There was no point in trying to decipher her shifting moods.

Ginny got up and looked over at Blaise again, who briefly glanced up at her. His characteristic grin was absent. She smiled feebly and turned to follow Luna and Neville out of the library, unable to prevent herself from thinking about Malfoy. She had not seen him since he hexed Neville after Christmas holidays. She wondered, absently, how he was doing.

"Ginny!" a voice yelled out, and the redhead watched as Colin Creevey came running into the library, seizing her tightly by the hands.

Madam Pince scowled and hushed Colin loudly. He ignored her.

"What is it, Colin?" Ginny asked, noticing how pale and upset the small Gryffindor boy looked.

"It's Ron!" he replied, breathless. His eyes were wide and round. "He's been poisoned!"

**xXx**

Draco crept outside the hallway of the hospital wing, watching the Weasley clan clamour around the boy Weasley, all thanking Potter for saving him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could see what Ginny was doing: standing beside the Scarred Wonder.

Draco had seen her, Potter, and the Mudblood waiting outside the infirmary all afternoon and evening, and his curiosity had got the best of him. He had to find out what they were talking about and who was in the hospital wing. What he had overheard, so far, was that Ron Weasley had been poisoned: he had drunk the mead that was intended for Dumbledore.

Draco wasn't quite sure what to think of the matter. On one hand, he was annoyed that Slughorn had kept the blasted drink; on the other hand, he felt guilty. He didn't feel bad for inadvertently poisoning the lughead, but he still felt sickened, and he wasn't quite sure why. Was it because this incident had caused the Weasley girl pain? No. It had to be because Whiskers and Pothead's bumchum, The King, had ruined his plan.

Draco's line of thought was suddenly broken when he heard an older female voice crying, carrying down the hallways, and fast approaching. It sounded motherish. Draco ducked around the corner and saw two older redheads enter the infirmary.

_They must be the parents_, Draco thought to himself.

He cursed under his breath and started making his way back to his room. He shouldn't feel guilty about what happened. He just shouldn't. But why did his head hurt, and why did his heart seem to ache? There had to be a reason. This was all _her_ fault, and Blaise's.

Draco inadvertently made his way in through the common room entrance, following several students in front of him. He looked over at the lounge to see the Blaise, looking up at him with his golden eyes. Draco scowled and turned, heading towards his room. He had been avoiding Blaise since the dark-haired boy had told him who he truly was—a god. This was partly out of anger, but mostly out of fear.

He had run out of the Dreamless Sleeping Draught almost a month ago. Luckily, he hadn't had any dreams, nothing vivid or out of the ordinary at least, but then he rarely slept these days. His luck, unfortunately, would run out soon. At least now he knew it was Blaise, this Morpheus character, who had made him see these visions of the Weasley girl. Blaise admitted that he was the one who made them share dreams, see certain things. However, something else Blaise said had Draco worried: he couldn't make them physically hurt one another in their dreams. If this were true, how were they able to do that what wasn't the design of some god or some spell?

He opened the door to his room and stepped inside. Taking off his robes, he hung them up inside his armoire. He then quickly began to undress, tossing his clothes into the hamper. Completely naked, Draco slipped under the silk sheets and closed his eyes, falling fast asleep.

"Malfoy," a voice whispered.

Draco slowly blinked opened his eyes. The enchanted view of the moon from his window illuminated the room, allowing him to focus in on two big, bright brown eyes and wavy red hair that framed a pale, freckled oval face.

"Weasley?" Draco croaked, sitting up, shaking his head. "What are you doing here?" The redhead shocked him by crawling under the sheets with him.

"My brother was poisoned," she replied gloomily, snuggling up beside the blond.

Draco swallowed hard and looked down at her. She was on her side, nestled underneath his shoulder, resting her soft waves on his chest. He brought his arm down and held her somewhat awkwardly, if not affectionately.

"I'm sorry," he offered lamely, still confused as to why she was in bed with him.

"I just want to be held tonight," she said softly, rubbing her nose into his smooth chest.

He brought his other hand over and pulled her in closer. He didn't know why, but it felt so natural, so familiar having her curl up beside him in bed. He must have momentarily dozed off for a moment for when he opened his eyes, he saw her looking up at him in earnest.

"Did you do it?" she asked softly. There was no accusation in her tone, but it still worried him.

"Do what?" he asked, feeling her move away from him a little.

"Poison the drink," she answered, still looking up at him unflinchingly.

"I don't know what you mean," he lied.

"Harry thought the poison was meant for Slughorn, but I figured the person who poisoned the mead didn't know Slug that well. It was probably meant for Dumbledore, and Slughorn just kept it for himself." There was still no blame in her voice, no suspicion in her eyes.

"I—"

"And you kept asking me that night, after Slughorn's party, if I drank any oak mead," she added, interrupting. "Then you stuffed a bezoar down my throat telling me it was a hangover remedy." She offered him a wry grin.

Why was she smiling?

"I know it was you, Draco," she said his name almost affectionately.

"Why are you here then?" He sat back, moving away from her. "Are you here for revenge?"

He drew the sheets back, looking for a wand in her hand; there was nothing.

"I never meant it for your brother," he finally admitted defensively, and frowned.

"I know," she responded softly, "but you must realise that right now I cannot forgive what you have inadvertently done." Her voice was still soft and gentle, almost soothing. "I will not understand."

"You _will not_ understand?" he asked, nonplussed. It seemed like she understood already.

"The path you have chosen," she continued, looking forlorn, "will only end in death."

Draco recoiled from her and began to frantically search for his wand. Why was she threatening him in such soothing tones? It was unnerving and mildly disturbing.

"Draco," she breathed his name, putting her hand on his forearm, allowing her fingers to trace along the Mark. He stopped searching to look back at her. "I am not here to hurt you. I am here to save you."

She looked beautiful, radiant even. Her hair was in long, soft waves, glowing a scarlet red in the moonlight. Her face was pale, dusted with light cinnamon freckles that highlighted a wayward innocence about her. Something about her made him want her, made him…care for her.

"This—" she said, tracing her finger along the Mark, "this is a path you should have never been on." She looked up at him with wide, watering eyes. "This is not who you are."

"I had no choice," he whispered, feeling a weight being lifted from his chest.

"I know, my love," she replied, a bitter smile forming on her lovely face. "I knew one day you would be burdened to share my fate." She looked down and sighed.

"No! This isn't real." His heart felt like it was breaking, so he chose to let his fury build instead. "MORPHEUS, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" he screamed, waiting for the golden-eyed immortal to appear.

"I am not Morpheus," she said comfortingly, putting a small hand on his chest, over his heart. "I am your karma, Draco. I am your link to the past, to the present, and to the future."

He looked down into her amber eyes and knew that she was telling the truth. If this wasn't Morpheus's doing, then whose was it?

"Morpheus helped awaken something that had been dormant for far too long, something we had denied ourselves of," she explained, as she caressed his chest. "I am your heart, my love. I am your soul." She leaned forward, silent tears sliding down her freckled cheeks, and kissed the spot above his heart. "I am here to show you an aspect, a possibility of your life should you continue down this path, if you were to accomplish what you have set out to do..." She paused, searching for the words. "If you were to become a killer."

Before he could respond, she reached up with her small hands and held his face, bringing his lips down to hers. As he felt them meet, a sort of Legilimency took place: it felt as though she had slipped into his mind and dipped it into a Pensieve bowl, flooding his senses with memories of events that were real but had not yet come to pass.

_"Malfoy! We need you here, now!" a masked, hooded figure called out, dissipating into grey smoke._

_Without uttering a word, the long-haired blond made his way towards the fire that was raging a thousand metres in front of him. He walked instead of Apparating. The smoke and mirror acts took a little less time than his casual stroll; however, he was in no hurry to get to the manor set in flames._

_He gripped the silver snake-embossed cane tightly in his fist as he came closer and closer to the searing heat. He grimaced at the task he was forced to perform, but it had to be done. So, he slowed his pace, but the face of his blood—his kin—finally came into view._

_"So it has come to this," the captive said, looking up at him with the same steel-grey eyes as he, the same hardness glinting in those dark irises. Wisps of blond hair hung down his forehead, plastered against his dirt-smeared face._

_Two masked Death Eaters were on either side, holding the struggling grey-eyed blond down on his knees, making him subservient. It was a foreign-looking scene._

_"It was inevitable. You knew this," the other blond replied evenly, setting the cane down to the ground. "You know the consequences of failing the Dark Lord."_

_The blond glared up at him, his upper lip curling into a malicious smirk._

_"Yes, and now you are his favourite, his Chosen One." The captive's eyes were clouded and dark. There was such rage in them. "You are his Nagini, nothing but a pet!" he spat, his eyes narrowing into mercury slits. "After everything I have done for you, to keep you safe!" There was desperation and anger in his voice. "I thought that you, above everyone else, would understand."_

_"I do understand," he responded quietly, drawing out his wand and aiming it down at the blond kneeling before him. "That is why I have allowed Mother to live, Father."_

_"_Avada Kedavra_!"_

**xXx**

Ginny woke up suddenly, sitting up in her bed in the pitch black. Her pupils slowly dilated as her eyes focused and grew accustomed to the dark. Something white caught her eyes, and she grabbed her wand.

"_Lumos_!"

Brown eyes met grey.

"Malfoy!" she gasped, drawing her sheets up around her.

His hair was tousled in every which direction. His eyes were wide, and he was trembling slightly. The boy looked terrified.

"I need you to make me another batch of Dreamless Draught!" he demanded in a desperate tone, leaning forward.

"W-What?" she stuttered.

He had broken into her room (Merlin knows how) in the middle of the night to demand sleep-aids?

"A Dreamless Potion. I need you to make me some more!" His tone had slightly levelled out, but his eyes remained wild.

"No, Malfoy! You just don't barge into my room in the middle of the night and demand things from me!" she exclaimed in a huff, sitting up. "I have had a long, hard day, and I don't have the time or the patience to deal with you right now."

"Please, Weasley—_Ginevra_," he corrected himself, pleading, sounding genuine (for a second time in his life). "I can't keep having these dreams. They are morbidly disturbing. The images you keep making me see are—"

"Me?" she cried, confused and enraged. "What the bloody hell?" She quickly flicked her wand, flooding light into the clear glass orb beside her bed. "I am not the one making you see things."

"Yes you are!" he bellowed back, his temper rising.

The look of fear and hesitation left his face immediately. He now very much looked his former domineering self, although he still had a frenzied look in his eyes.

"You have officially gone starkers, Malfoy," she stated without a hint of mockery. "Get out of my room, NOW!" She pointed to the portrait door.

He lowered his head and looked as though he was about to get up, but then, suddenly, he stopped and lifted his head. He glanced up at her, and this time his grey eyes were clear, not clouded.

"Ginevra, I need this potion to keep what little sanity I have left," he admitted softly, reaching into his robes.

She trained her wand on him as he slowly drew out his own wand and pointed it at his temple. She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him, perplexed. She watched as Draco brought up his other hand, holding up a small crystal phial. He then extracted a memory, putting it inside the bottle and held it out to her, offering it to her as he pocketed his wand.

"A memory?" she asked, reaching out for the ampoule. As she touched the glass, he firmly closed his hand around hers.

"You are a part of this, whether you want to admit it or not," he said softly, still holding onto her hand. "I want you to know the reasons _why_ I need this Dreamless Draught, and I want you to know who Blaise truly is."

She furrowed her brow and opened her mouth, trying to speak, but the words would not come out. What did any of this have to do with Blaise?

"The fact that I am letting you into my mind tells you how important I think you are," he added softly, squeezing her hand. "How much I trust you."

"Trust me? What are you going to show me?" she asked, somewhat afraid of what she was going to learn. Why _did_ he trust her?

"I am going to show you why we have been having the same dreams lately," he answered. "I am going to convince you that I am someone worth saving."

**xXx**

**Author notes:** _Whiskers_ is my nickname for Slughorn. ^_^ And of course, _The King_ is Draco's nickname for Ron. Don't worry, Won-Won will be mentioned in later chapters. _Gretchen_ and _Vicky_ are Draco's goofy pet names for Gregory and Vincent while they are in female form. (This, of course, is my device!) ^_~


	12. More Questions Than Answers

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Twelve: More Questions Than Answers_

Ginny obediently lowered her face into the cool, swirling silver pearl of Draco's memory, feeling as though her mind had become empty and hollow. The sensation of nothingness washed over her as she dipped past the surface of the gleaming mass of the Pensieve, an object that Draco had conjured out of mid-air and placed on her desk.

Ginny had never been privy to a memory before and wasn't sure what to expect. She had to admit that it was a disturbing yet euphoric sensation, like plunging face-first into refreshing crystal clear waters only to resurface on a floating, invisible cloud. As she immersed her head fully into the opening of the stone basin, she felt her body begin to lift and then tumble downward, hitting the floor of a large and spacious room littered with shards of glass and splintered wood. It appeared to be Draco Malfoy's room—what was left of it anyway. It looked as though a small twister had recently ripped through it.

The scene before her was dark and somewhat foreboding. Malfoy was eyeing Zabini suspiciously, backing away from him. The two looked to be in the middle of a confrontation. The memory that Draco had chosen for her to see must have been the aftermath of whatever battle took place in the room. While it seemed as though they were standing in the midst of a wild and desolate path of carnage, both boys appeared unscathed.

What the hell had happened here?

_"What do you mean?" Draco asked cautiously, backing away. "Who are you?"_

Ginny brow furrowed as Blaise replied with cold and mocking laughter, looming over the blond like a dark shadow. She had always assumed that the two boys were friends (if Slytherins had real friends), but the interaction she was witnessing between the two right now seemed anything _but_ friendly.

_"Who do you think I am, Draco?" Blaise asked cryptically, his voice low._

Despite the fact that she knew she was witnessing a memory, Ginny could not help but shiver at his tone, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. She had never found the tall, dark-skinned boy to be very threatening, at least not until right now.

_"You are an immortal," Draco breathed, "a controller of dreams!"_

Ginny opened her mouth in shock, her eyes wide. Blaise Zabini was an immortal? This couldn't be. She watched in both horror and amazement as the golden-eyed Slytherin shook his head and stood tall and menacing.

_"My name is Morpheus, Draco, and I am the god of dreams."_

_A God?_ Ginny queried and stumbled back at the exact same moment that Draco had.

_Blaise Zabini was the god of dreams? What? How?_

Suddenly, she felt herself being tugged at and pulled out of the memory, like the sensation of having one's thoughts ripped out of one's mind.

"Hey!" she cried somewhat groggily, as the grey-eyed Slytherin put a hand to her mouth.

The blond held her close to his chest, his pointed chin resting atop her head. He smelled of spices and something rich and decadent that she couldn't quite place a name on.

"Someone's been knocking on your door and calling for you," he whispered loudly in her ear, his hand still pressed against her mouth. "I think it's that Mudblood and Potter."

Ginny tried to speak, but her voice came out muffled against his large hand. She narrowed her eyes and growled, hoping that he would drop his bloody paw from her mouth. When he didn't do so immediately, she stuck her tongue out and licked at his palm.

He quickly dropped his hand from her mouth and wiped it on his trousers. "That's disgusting!" he hissed, looking at her as though she had just violated him in the most vile and heinous way imaginable. "Put a Silencing Charm on the door!" He then pointed his non-sullied hand to the common room entrance.

She turned around and glared at him as she picked up her wand and flicked her wrist, non-verbally silencing the room.

"What was that for?" he asked, still wiping his hand on his person, looking thoroughly disgusted.

"I might ask you the same," she rejoined, looking equally unimpressed.

"I don't want to be caught in here," he replied, standing up, finally letting his hand fall to his side as he furtively glanced about the room.

"Caught by whom, my housemates?" she asked, looking up at him sceptically.

She didn't want that either, but she didn't see how they could get inside unless she unlocked the door and invited them inside.

"No," he answered in a low, deep voice, shaking his head. "Blaise."

She drew her head back and pursed her lips together, frowning thoughtfully. How could Blaise catch them here? Unless...

"I can't be sure if that's not him outside your door right now, Weasley," he added, scowling just as thoughtfully as she was frowning. "I can't really be sure of anything."

Ginny's facial expression must have read obvious doubt for the platinum blond chose to further clarify his vague point.

"He could be in your room somewhere, right now, hiding!" He glanced over at the windows for emphasis.

Ginny flicked her wand at the curtains and closed them. He looked down at her, cocking an eyebrow quizzically in the air.

"You're being paranoid," she remarked dryly, rolling her eyes as she walked past him towards her bed.

"For good reason," he stated waspishly, withdrawing his memory from the Pensieve and placing it back in the crystal phial. He then waved his wand over the stone basin and made it disappear. "I am being stalked by a god, Weasley, and so are you."

Ginny turned around to stare at him and frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. What she had seen was disturbing, but it was brief and fleeting. She needed more answers that what he had offered. There was no way Blaise was a god. This was just talk. Ginny also wanted to know how exactly any of this had to do with saving Draco—or rather, what made him someone worth saving.

"Why is a god stalking us?" she asked, unconvinced. "Are you sure Zabini wasn't just taking the piss?"

"No!" Draco shook his head with impatience. "Listen, it will make sense when you see the rest of the memory." He went over to her armoire and opened it, searching, she assumed, for the Slytherin robes he had given her months ago.

"Well, why don't you just let me see the rest of this memory then?" she asked, watching him rifle through her clothes in annoyance.

"I will, but not here," he answered absently, and then found what he was looking for, tossing her the small black, silver, and green robes.

"Where? Your room?" she asked with an eyebrow raised, hesitantly putting on the robes.

"Yeah," he replied, moving past her towards the exit to the tower stairs. "I just don't feel comfortable here. I'd much rather have this happen in my room."

"Okay." She shrugged her shoulders as she walked past him and opened the portrait door. "But people might still be out and about, especially Harry," she explained, sticking her head outside and checking to see if the coast was clear.

Normally, Draco only came to her room in the early hours of morning. It was only eleven o'clock at night, and there was no certainty that the halls would be empty. They were taking a big risk by trying to sneak out now, but who knew how long it would take her to go through his memory and the discussion that would inevitably follow. In the end, it was easier for her to sneak out of the Slytherin dorms than it was for him to sneak out of Gryffindor's.

They swiftly exited her room and made their way down the first flight of stair that connected to Ginny's room. Just as they made it to the bottom of the first set, intent on jumping to the next rotating set, they heard loud voices fast approaching.

"Shit!" Ginny cursed under her breath, and she glanced over to see Draco frown.

They were trapped with only two options: going back up to her room or remaining on the set of stairs that they were already on and, inevitably, being caught. She observed Draco follow, with his eyes, the set of stairs that led up to her room. They began to travel back against the empty floor just below her door.

"C'mon!" he whispered, grabbing her hand as he made her jump with him onto the moving staircase.

It quickly took them back to an empty and open walkway with no discernible exits or stairways.

"Great thinking, Malfoy!" Ginny hissed sarcastically, pressing herself up again the wall, hoping that the people coming near wouldn't spot them, but they were essentially out in the open now.

The voices grew louder, and now it was Draco's turn to curse under his breath, knowing that they were both trapped at a dead end. She watched as he turned his attention to the wall closest to them and took her hand and began to edge closer towards it, hoping to hide them in the corner of the hall. It was a rather pathetic and childish attempt at concealing themselves, but neither could think of a better option besides hurtling to the ground and crawling away with broken bones.

"What's that?" Ginny asked curiously, pointing a finger at what appeared to be a seam in the wall.

Draco directed his attention to where she pointed, and his eyes suddenly grew wide. It was a somewhat familiar pattern, she noted, reminding her of the entrance to his room.

"I think it's a hidden door," he replied, walking closer, dragging her along with him.

He withdrew his wand and lightly tapped it on the stone surface. At first, nothing happened and both their spirits fell. Then a soft grating noise sounded, like rock scraping against stone, and the wall door began to move.

"Quick!" he ordered, and they both squeezed their way inside, the door slowly closing behind them.

To say it was dark in the cramped and hopefully empty passageway would be an understatement. Pitch black was a better term.

Ginny held onto Draco's hand tightly as they both brought their wands up, whispering '_Lumos_'. The light from their wands revealed a narrow passageway with two separate corridors, both with a set of stairs and both leading in opposite directions.

"So you have hidden passageways in your dorms too?" Draco asked quietly, still afraid that they could be heard. He looked both to his right and to his left, wondering which passage to take.

"I guess," Ginny whispered back. "I never noticed it before."

"I wonder where both corridors go," he mused aloud. "Obviously, this used to be connected to your room as the only way to access it is by using the stairs that leads to and from your room."

Ginny shrugged her shoulders and stood beside him, still holding onto his hand. She wasn't about to let go in case something happened, and he didn't appear to be protesting.

"Which one are we taking?" she asked, looking up at Draco. She didn't know why, but she trusted the tall Slytherin to make the right choice.

Draco seemed to ponder on it for a moment and then lazily pointed his wand to the right. "I think that way leads outside." He then directed his wand in the other direction. "This one leads further into the school somewhere. Maybe the kitchens?" he offered with a shrug.

"Well, it's too bloody cold to go outside right now," she whined, not wanting to take the path to the right.

Draco easily caught the hint and released her hand, switching his wand to his right hand (his wand hand). He then grabbed her free hand with his left and began to lead her down the other passage.

"Watch your step," he warned, slowly guiding her down the dark and painfully narrow set of stairs.

"It's so cold and dank down here," she commented, shivering. "It reminds me of the dungeons."

"It's not dank down there," Draco retorted rather defensively, sounding annoyed with Ginny's slight on his dormitories. "At least our dorms don't look like an Escher lithograph of Relativity."

Ginny refused to take the bait, unwilling to get into a row with Draco over whose dormitory was better, especially in a scary, dark secret passageway that led to Merlin only knew where. That and Ginny had no idea what an Escher lithograph was…and she wasn't positively certain of what he meant by 'relativity' either.

"So you never knew this passage existed?" Draco asked again, a simple variation of his first question, as they both wound their way down the stairs.

"There are lots of hidden passageways in this school," Ginny replied nonchalantly, stumbling slightly into Draco's back. "I just never knew there was one so close to my room let alone in the Gryffindor Tower."

Draco grunted slightly as the petite redhead bumped into him, causing him to stiffen and brace himself, allowing her to regain her footing. His grip on her hand tightened, and he raised his wand higher towards the low ceiling.

"I didn't even know that each house had its own private room," he remarked with a hint of annoyance. "Or maybe it's just Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Ginny shook her head and coughed, inhaling the acrid and putrid dust that littered the unused corridor. "Makes no sense for it to just be the two houses," she reasoned, clearing her throat. "Maybe these were rooms for the Head of Houses—you know, their kids or something, if they had any."

"Yeah, could be," he agreed absently, pointing his wand out further.

Ginny held her wand out too. How long was this hallway? Suddenly, she lurched forward, catching her foot on the chipped and worn floor. The familiarity of his hand in hers was lost, and, with a squeak and a loud scuffling and scrapping noise, she hit the floor with a listless thud.

Draco immediately turned around and pointed his wand at her. "Shit. Weasley, are you okay?" he asked with mild concern, seeing her lying on the dirty floor.

She gave him her most pitiful and humiliated expression. She knew, at that moment, he was trying to suppress the urge to laugh in her face.

"Did you hurt anything?" he questioned, offering his hand with an almost unperceived smirk beginning to form on his lips.

"Just my pride," she replied blandly, grasping her wand, which she had dropped, and raising her hand, allowing him to help her to feet.

She began to feebly wipe at the dirt on her robes when she felt his hand clasp over hers once more and lead her onwards.

"I think there's another door here up ahead," he stated, pointing at a wall a few metres in front of them. "That or a dead end."

She made a face behind his back.

They finally made it to the end, and Draco began to put the flat of his palms against the stone, feeling for a door.

"_Nox_ it for a sec," he ordered, and they both extinguished the light from their wands.

A sparse amount of light crept out from underneath the wall, and Draco unconsciously grabbed her hand once more and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Yeah, this is the exit. Let me try it."

He swiftly tapped on the wall, and it began to move like the other stone door had, slowly opening to reveal a brightly lit and incredibly spacious room. The grand and tantalising scents that assaulted their olfactory senses made them both fall forward into the room.

"Move over, Trelawney, there's another soothsayer at Hogwarts," Ginny said with awe, bringing a free hand to her hip.

Draco turned around and furrowed his brow, staring at the now dirty and dishevelled-looking redhead. "Whatever are you talking about, Weasley?"

"You predicted it spot on, Malfoy," she answered, as though her series of words made for a reasonable explanation. "We're in the kitchens!"

Draco frowned and turned around, seeing the many tables and stoves and stacks upon stacks of delicious food.

Ginny walked up beside him and grinned, letting go of his hand. "Well, I am famished." She ambled over to a tray of chocolates. "Want to stay and have a bite?" she asked, with a cheeky and impish grin on her dirt-smeared face.

Draco nodded his head in answer, and they both settled in at a table and began digging in at the delectable treats in front of them. A couple of house-elves Apparated out of nowhere and began serving them drinks and clearing away their mess. After a minute or so of stuffing their faces, they both let out content sighs and sipped at their tea.

Ginny put her cup down and took a napkin and began to wipe at her face, grimacing at all the dirt she managed to acquire during their brief expedition through the abandoned passageway.

"So if Blaise is a god, why do you think he's here?" she asked, as though she was making idle conversation with a well-acquainted friend. "I mean, what does any of this have to do with you and I?" She put down the napkin with a look of disgust.

Draco raised an eyebrow in a mocking fashion and brought his tea to his lips, taking a brief and dainty sip. "I guess you didn't see much before I pulled you out," he commented wryly, lowering the cup to the saucer.

Ginny shook her head. "No. All I heard was Blaise admitting that he was the god of dreams—" Ginny looked up as though a light had suddenly gone off in her head. "Oh, Merlin's beard! You mean he's the one who has been giving us dreams?"

Draco smiled rather condescendingly. "Yes," he answered blandly, nodding. "He said we had some kind of connection." He made a face at the word 'connection'.

Ginny raised her cup to her lips and then frowned, lowering it. "You mean, like the diary?" she asked, and Draco shook his head, taking another sip from his tea.

"No, that was a Horcrux," he replied, and Ginny tilted her head in confusion.

"A whore-a-what?" she asked, both perplexed and slightly offended.

"That's what _I_ said," he added smoothly, grinning rather cheekily.

Ginny furrowed her brow in confusion. If this was an inside joke, she not only didn't get it, she didn't appreciate it.

He must have seen the disgruntled look on her face for he lowered his cup and stood up, pointing to her napkin of treats. "How about we take this to go, Weasley. I'll show you the rest of the memory in my room."

**xXx**

Draco leaned against his desk and watched as the red-haired Gryffindor drew her head out of the Pensieve bowl and frowned.

"I can't believe it," she gasped, still adjusting to the feel of the memory. "This is so unreal. I thought the diary was our only connection. Now we find out that this has all been a god's doing?"

Draco nodded and went over to the fireplace and sat down, exhausted. They had finally made their way out of the kitchens and into the Slytherin dormitories, keeping a wary eye for students (or possible god) lurking nearby. Although Draco had managed to secure them both in the confines of his room, he still did not feel exceptionally safe. Blaise could show up anywhere at any time.

"Who would have thought that there was someone _more_ famous than Potter in this school, eh, Weasley?" he queried facetiously.

Ginny glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest in an annoyed fashion. "What I want to know was why a _god_ was summoned to spy on us? How are _we_ important? We're not heroes or nobility—as much as you'd like to think you are."

She raised an eyebrow in jest, and Draco snorted at her sarcasm, bringing his feet up on the table. He had watched her dip her head back inside the stone basin and, no doubt, she had keenly observed his and Blaise's conversation. She had heard the golden-eyed god weave an incredible tale about destiny and déjà vu, but she remained unconvinced. If he didn't have to maintain an external dislike for the girl, he would have told her that he was impressed: she wasn't as stupid as he thought she was.

"Blaise told you that Tom's diary was a piece of his soul?" she asked when he didn't answer her previous unanswerable questions.

He nodded his head in affirmation.

"So he hadn't simple cursed it. It was a part of him," she mused aloud. "That must be why it was so easy for him to possess me and why I still dream about him." She frowned and let out a laboured sigh. "Do you think that Tom knows, knows that I dream about him?"

Draco shrugged. He had no idea what the Dark Lord knew. He knew many things, Draco was sure, but he doubted that this was one of them.

"Maybe he has orchestrated the whole thing!" Ginny cried in a sort of panic.

Draco sat up and shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't think the Dark Lord is behind this, behind Blaise's motives. I highly doubt he can control you any more, either. Blaise said that when the book was destroyed so was its power."

Ginny pursed her lips together and frowned; however, she seemed slightly more relaxed. She uncrossed her arms and let them dangle to her side. Determinedly, she walked over to where he sat and took the seat opposite.

"So what exactly is a Horcrux—I mean, how do you go about creating one?" she asked, still looking apprehensive.

"I have no clue what the specifics are," Draco answered honestly. "I looked it up, even in the Forbidden section, but I couldn't find a damn thing. Nothing."

She let out a sigh, her frown deepening. It seemed as though something was on her mind, something deeply affecting her.

"Why do you think he said our souls are kindred?" she asked hesitantly, seeming almost afraid to hear Draco's opinion.

"I don't know," he answered slowly.

"This connection that he speaks of..." She paused, trying to determine the best way to phrase her question. "Do you think it is in the future, what we will do years from now?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders somewhat indifferently and brought a hand back to rub the back of his neck. "It's a possibility..." He paused. He had never thought of it from that angle before. "However, I never saw _us_ having a foreseeable future, Weasley," he remarked with an arrogant smirk on his lips. "I mean, I never noticed your existence until just recently."

This was a lie, of course. He had noticed Ginevra Weasley quite some time ago. It wasn't until now, however, that he had begun to regard her as someone worth talking to, someone worth sharing his most intimate thoughts with.

Ginny stared at him blankly and sat back in her seat. If she was affronted by what he had said, she did not show it. She appeared lost in her own thoughts. Admittedly, he was drowning in his own, thinking back to what Blaise had told him earlier, something about an oath.

_"I swore an oath to fulfil a request…to make you and Ginevra see certain…things." _

"Whom do you think he'd swear an oath to?" she asked suddenly, violently shaking him from his reverie.

Had she read his mind? They had only made brief eye contact, and he had not felt the familiar tug and invasion of Legilimency. He doubted that she even had the knowledge or the skill to perform such an act, as this was her first time using a Pensieve. Memory extraction and protection skills were most assuredly foreign to her, yet he wondered.

"Not the Dark Lord," he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, failing to meet her gaze.

"What about Dumbledore?" she asked.

"Why?" he asked, his curiosity genuinely piqued. It seemed plausible that if a god were to be indebted to anyone it would be to their sagely headmaster.

"I dunno…" she replied, shrugging. "What do you think we were meant to see?"

He stared at her pointedly.

"In the dreams, that is," she clarified.

He scoffed at her and scowled, breathing out through his nose. "I think it's all a load of rubbish." He cleared his throat in a distasteful manner, hoping that the redhead had not come to dwell upon his satiric remark to Blaise about pure-bloods and procreation. "I don't trust him."

"I don't either," she readily agreed. "He is a god, though, Malfoy. I doubt he's trying to deceive us."

He let out another dignified snort. "Right, 'cause gods have never been known to deceive mortals," he rejoined sardonically.

"You know what I mean," she said, exasperated. "I don't think this is a game to him. He looked serious."

Draco thought on this and frowned, bringing his heavy arms up to his chest to cross them in a pensive manner. "What if he isn't a god, Weasley?" he asked suddenly, sounding slightly annoyed. "What if he is just some mental case having a go at us?" He then pulled a face as though he had just sucked on a lemon.

Ginny openly smiled at the look on Draco's face and shook her head, regaining her serious expression once more. "You saw him, Malfoy. The things he can do. We aren't having these dreams of our volition," she explained rationally, and he nodded reluctantly. "There's a lot of things that have happened that could not be explained until now: the robes, the note in my room—"

"Note?" Draco asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah," Ginny replied, nodding. "Somehow a note appeared in my room that read 'Don't trust Malfoy'." She smirked despite the nature of the note.

_Where did she learn to smirk like that?_

"Are you sure Potter didn't write that?" he asked with his customary derisive drawl, looking as put out as he sounded.

She dropped her shoulders and tilted her head in annoyance, staring at him pointedly. She was about to open her mouth and fire back a scathing retort when Draco raised his hands in mock surrender, as if to say 'Fine'.

She sat back and crossed her legs as the blond leaned back in his seat as well, bringing a hand to his mouth and letting his fingers curve downward to grasp at his pointed chin.

"He's involved in much more than that," Draco said with a far-away look on his face, causing Ginny to glance at him sideways. "I'll have to extract the previous memories to show you…" He paused, letting his hand drop. "But I believe that Blaise has been in my life longer than I would like to admit."

"Well, I don't think he's here to simply trick us," she stated in what sounded like a reassuring tone. "Maybe he's showing us that we don't have to hate each other."

Her brown eyes were shining in an attractive sort of way that made him want to smile in return. _Almost_. Instead, he frowned and thought back to something else Blaise had told him.

_"I am here to show you possibilities—of what could happen, of what has happened, and of what is meant to be." _

"He said he was here to show us our possibilities, to open up doors," he blurted out, unable to prevent the words from tumbling past his lips.

_"You assume that I have manufactured every image, made you see what I wanted you to see? No, Draco. I have only directed certain aspects of your dreams. I not only make you see the what ifs, but I __show you what you want to see. Let's just say that you provide the canvas, and I simply paint."_

"He only shows us what we want to see," he added, and then shook his head, scowling. Why the bloody blue blazes was he telling her all of this?

"He wanted to show me with _you_?" she asked, a sour look plastered on her face. "No offence, Malfoy, but how are you important to me?"

Now it was his turn to tilt his head and glare at her disapprovingly.

"Okay, a lot of offence was meant by that." She grinned, and his scowl deepened.

He was sure that she was having entirely way too much fun with this.

"Seriously, though, how are we linked to each other's pasts?" she asked, raising her hands.

"I dunno," he replied with a shrug. "How are we linked in each other's dreams? How can you physically harm me in yours?"

She blanched and drew back, looking both disturbed and apprehensive at what he had said.

"I—"

Draco instinctively reached out and searched her mind. He wasn't a gifted Legilimens in the slightest and his Occlumency was adequate at best; however, he was fairly certain that the redhead didn't even know what Occlumency was.

_Blaise made me cut Malfoy. But why did the act seem so familiar? Was he only making me do something I had already done? Had something happened to Draco and myself in the past, something so poignant and disturbing that it caused both of us to block out the memory, or was it erased from our minds entirely, on purpose?_

"You cut me in your dream?"

Ginny shook her head, opening and closing her mouth in disbelief. "How—"

"I think parts of our memory are missing," he interrupted, and then glanced down at his lap.

They said nothing for a while, unable to look at one another, afraid of what the other person would inadvertently reveal through his or her thoughts.

"So you think someone Obliviated our memories?" she finally asked.

Draco slowly nodded and raised his right palm upward. "It makes sense. How else could we feel a connection yet not find a cause or memory for it?" He paused thoughtfully. "If we locate those memories then maybe we can find an explanation for all of this," he said, waving his hand towards her in an indicating manner. "But I don't…I don't know where to look."

Ginny glanced down at her lap and rubbed her fingers against her lips. "In our dreams," she whispered softly, sitting back to look up at him.

Both stared at each other in silence. It seemed that the answers they sought, if they were any, were only to be found in their dreams.

**xXx**

"Severus, enough!" Dumbledore's voice rang in the former Potion master's ears.

Snape scowled and crossed his arms in annoyance. He never looked forward to these meetings with the headmaster, and he equally hated being scolded by the wizard. It would have been easier if he had simply said 'yes' to whatever Dumbledore said or asked, but Snape was anything but a Yes Man. All he had tried to do was persuade the headmaster one last time to allow him to further inquire into the Malfoy matter and discover what the boy's nefarious plans were. His wish to do so was mostly out of self-preservation, wanting to know exactly what he had tied himself to (although he had already guessed that Draco had been asked to kill Dumbledore); however, he was also genuinely concerned for the older man, wishing to aid him as best he could.

Snape, though, knew that there was no hope for the aged wizard: he was dying, and the Slytherin Head of House had done everything in his magical art to stall such an end. He had just wished that the headmaster's fate wasn't his to decide. He had enough blood on his hands already; he didn't want the wizarding world to see him as any more of a monster than what he already believed himself to be.

"I know you only mean the best for me, Severus," Dumbledore added in a much gentler tone, the vexation in his voice and appearance finally removed.

"I could aid you more efficiently if only you could tell me more," Snape begrudgingly implored, seeing an opportunity to appeal to the Gryffindor's reasonable side (if he had any). "I know you have an inkling of what the boy is up to, and I also know that there is more going on here than what you have let on."

Dumbledore raised a bushy, white eyebrow and smiled softly. "Oh, and what would that be, Severus?" he asked somewhat playfully, but Snape could detect the inquisitiveness in his tone.

"What you are doing with Potter," Snape answered acidly, and Dumbledore's smile turned into a frown. "Why can you not let me help? It is because you still do not trust me? After all these years, can you still not give me the benefit of the doubt?"

Snape hated not having the headmaster trust him, after all that he had done for him, after all that he would do for him still.

Dumbledore shook his head and stood up, walking over to where the former Potions Master sat. He put his hand on the younger wizard's shoulder and patted it gently. "My dear friend, Severus," he sighed with emotion, "I trust you more than any other."

Snape could hear a 'but' coming on.

Dumbledore's eyes were soft, yet his smile was sad and deflated. "There are some things that I cannot tell you, Severus, and it is not because I do not trust you, but—"

"But _what_?" Snape asked rather scathingly, snapping at older wizard who stood rigidly at his side now.

"Your skills at Occlumency are above par, Severus," Dumbledore said with a hint of pride in his voice. "I might even dare say that the student has surpassed the master." The headmaster bowed his head in acknowledgement of Snape's skills, and the former Death Eater scowled, returning a barely perceivable nod in reluctant acquiescence.

"But you cannot trust that I will somehow inadvertently let your greatest secrets slip if adequately probed by Voldemort?" Snape asked cuttingly, getting to the point of the matter.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he nodded. "His skills as a Legilimens match my own, Severus."

Snape stood up and waved his hand, intent on cutting the headmaster off before he worked himself up further. "Fine," he stated simply, making his way to the exit.

"Severus, please," Dumbledore genuinely implored, but he sounded just as exasperated as he did sympathetic. "I know that this must be difficult—"

"You _know_?" Snape asked accusingly. "Hardly." Snape's mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. "I can accept that you do not want my help on this matter, Albus, but you are a damnable fool if you think I am going to idly stand by and take the credit for your death!"

And with that, Severus Snape turned on his heel, his black robes billowing. He grabbed the doorknob, twisting and swinging it open, making a dramatic exeunt out Dumbledore's office. The aged and slightly bent wizard let out a sigh at this and walked back over to his desk, taking a seat and bringing a gloved hand to his forehead.

"Albus, you take that man for granted," a disembodied voice echoed from the shadows, causing the headmaster to lower his hand and jump slightly in his seat.

Slowly, Blaise Zabini emerged from the shadows with a charming and deceptive smile flitting across his dark, handsome features.

"Mister Zabini, you gave me a scare," was all that Dumbledore could reply with. He knew that the dream god had received a small amount of satisfaction from alarming the otherwise unflappable headmaster.

"Again, with the formalities," the golden-eyed boy said almost cheerfully, spreading his arms outward in a mockingly friendly fashion. "How quaint, Albus."

Dumbledore pointed to the seat in front of him, unwilling to stand up and embrace the mischievous god. He was fairly certain that Morpheus only wanted to toy with him today.

"You know my stance on etiquette, Mister Zabini," Dumbledore replied through tight lips, feigning a smile.

While the boy before him was deceptively friendly, he was well aware that it was an act. He was dealing with a god—a god who owed him a favour—but a god nonetheless. With Morpheus, he should always tread lightly.

Blaise took the proffered seat and crossed his legs in a manly fashion, absently playing with the collar of his pristine robes. "Hmm, I suppose I am not close enough to be addressed by my first name," he remarked in a mock haughty tone, his smile widening to reveal perfectly even and straight white teeth. "Or perhaps I am not enough of a hapless pawn." His smile turned into a smirk as his eyes hardened in a disturbing sort of way.

Dumbledore frowned. How much of the conversation had he overheard?

"May I ask why you are in my office, eavesdropping, Mister Zabini?" he asked as pleasantly as he could. To anyone else, his tone would have seemed genuine and harmless, but Blaise Zabini was not just anyone; he was a god, and he was no fool.

"It's not a particularly pleasant feeling having tabs kept on you, is it?" he asked, leaning forward and grabbing his knee with both hands as he raised a dark eyebrow in jest.

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and gently bit the inside of his cheek. "Your point is taken, Mister Zabini, but I am afraid I cannot lift the Taboo until you fulfil your obligations."

Blaise openly scowled at the professor and flexed his jaw.

Dumbledore smiled. He would retake control of the conversation. "Speaking of which, how goes the campaign?" he asked in a playful manner, softly bringing his hands to rest on the desk.

Blaise let out a laboured sigh and picked at invisible lint on his robes, determined to not let the dodgy wizard affect him. "They seem to be interacting again," he answered, as Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "However, this is not due to anything done on my part."

Dumbledore's smile faltered. "How is that?"

Blaise lifted a hand and lowered his head in a nod. "It appears that events are speeding up quicker than I had anticipated." He briefly shrugged his shoulders and let them fall. "I never thought that Draco would break so easily."

Dumbledore brought his own hand up and rubbed at his beard thoughtfully. "Could you speed up the process even more?"

Blaise's eyes widened momentarily. "I could try," he offered, "but I would feel rather awkward about doing so."

Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle at the look of discomfort on the tall god's face. "Have you have grown a conscience, old man?" he asked teasingly, laughing at the absurdity of such a notion.

Blaise's eyes narrowed, and the wizened headmaster almost recoiled. "Albus, that question would seem much more ridiculous if it was directed at _you_," he said bitingly.

Dumbledore scowled, something rather uncharacteristic of him, as Blaise tented his fingers and briefly lowered his forehead to their apex.

"I just do not feel comfortable forcing them to do something that should come natural." He lowered his hands and placed them on his lap. "They're just kids, Albus. How can you not sympathise?" He shook his head, looking thoroughly disgusted. "You're a professor—you should be discouraging such acts."

Dumbledore's countenance softened, and he lowered his eyes. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he stated softly, as though it was a mantra that he had memorised, before he raised his head. "I agree that it is an awkward position I have placed you in—"

"Fine, I will do it," Blaise said, cutting him off and rising to his feet. "The sooner your plan comes to fruition, the sooner I can leave this mortal coil."

Blaise turned around and exited the door, deciding to take the more natural route out of Dumbledore's office. As he leisurely strolled down the spiral staircase, he couldn't help but let out a short, evil chuckle. Albus Dumbledore was not as brilliant as he so readily believed himself to be. Sure, a spying god had outmanoeuvred him, but could he explain how the sallow and deceptive-looking former Potions master outwitted him?

Blaise's grin turned wolfish.

Severus Snape was a far more astute man than the entire wizarding world would ever realise, and now it was his turn to stand in the shadows, overhearing a conversation between the headmaster and a supposed Slytherin student of his. In the corner of the stairs, under the deceptive spell of a Disillusionment Charm, Severus Snape was left to wonder who Blaise Zabini truly was, what he had in store for Draco Malfoy, and what exactly had he meant by expressing a desire to 'leave this mortal coil'.

**xXx**

Luna Lovegood sat alone at a table in the library. She pushed her long, fine blonde hair behind her shoulder and frowned as she pored over the numerous books that she had stacked in front of her. She had been remiss of her studies as of late, and, with O.W.L.s fast approaching, she was worried that she might be unable to catch up. Grades, however, was not the only subject on her mind as she absently read over her notes.

"Hey, Luna. I thought I'd find you here."

Luna glanced up to see a smiling Ginny Weasley. Luna returned the smile, happy to see her mischievous Gryffindor chum. Rarely a day had gone by that they had not seen one another, whether in class, in the Great Hall, or in the library. The spunky redhead was fast becoming Luna's most trusted and best friend, and she greatly hoped that Ginny felt the same way towards her.

"Doing some light reading?" Ginny asked, pointing to Luna's books as she let out a soft laugh.

Luna's brow creased, and she stared up at the redhead, looking rather nonplussed. "How does this volume of literature in front of me suggest 'light' reading?" she asked seriously, her tone far from harsh, but it did border the line between curious and condescending.

"Uh, it _doesn't_?" Ginny shot back rather defensively, but then relaxed as though she had just remembered that Luna rarely meant any offence by the questions she often asked.

Luna tilted her head and smiled. Ginny had failed to answer her question and had come off sounding rather foolish, but she didn't mind. She often did not understand Gryffindors when they joked. It was not because she didn't comprehend their jests or the punch lines. She just found they were rather poor at expressing and executing witticism. So instead of inquiring further, she usually just smiled and nodded her head, happy to drop the matter altogether.

"Luna?" Ginny asked sweetly, sitting down beside her.

Luna knew that this was an opening for flattery, an invitation to seek something from her. She turned her head to look at the redhead as her curiosity was good-naturedly piqued.

"Yes, Ginny?" she asked just as sweetly, indicating to the redhead that she could continue with her question.

"I was wondering if you have that dreamless draught recipe in your notebook somewhere?" she asked, grinning, pointing at one of Luna's many notepads (all gifts from her father) spread out on the table. "I need to make another batch."

A sheepish expression hung on the Gryffindor girl's face, and Luna smiled brightly. "I do, but it's not in any of these books," she replied, noting the brief frown form on Ginny's face. "I have a batch made up if you'd like to have some."

The redhead's face lit up. "Oh? That would be great, Luna!" Ginny cried, reaching over to give the petite blonde a tight hug. Once they broke apart, another frown formed on Ginny's lips. "Wait, have you not been sleeping well lately?"

Ginny had asked the question with such genuine solicitude that Luna could not help but blush at the redhead's concern.

Shaking her head, Luna offered the redhead a reassuring smile. "I just find it's safer to go to sleep that way—to make sure that no one comes into my dreams at night and steals my thoughts," she answered sagely, her eyes twinkling in the same manner that Dumbledore's often did.

"Right…" Ginny paused, sounding and looking unnerved, but then quickly shook the expression off her face and smiled sincerely. "Well, thanks, Luna. I would really appreciate that." She stood up and grabbed her bag. "When and where would you like me to pick it up?"

Luna assumed that the redhead was going to visit her brother, Ronald, in the infirmary, since he had recently been poisoned. "I'll bring it to Double Potions this afternoon," she offered, and Ginny nodded her head in appreciation.

"Great. Thanks again, Luna!" Ginny then turned around and waved, heading towards the exit of the library.

"You're very welcome, Ginny," Luna returned, watching her leave.

She observed the redhead bound out the door and run smack dab into Blaise Zabini. Luna frowned slightly as she watched the tall, mocha-skinned boy reach out to grab the Gryffindor and hold her upright, preventing the girl from falling. She saw him open his mouth to speak but could not read his lips. Ginny, in turn, shook her head violently and wrested her hands from his and took off past him in a run.

Luna's frown deepened, and she glanced down at her lap. Ginny appeared to be afraid of Blaise, and Luna absently wondered if the Gryffindor had finally discovered the truth.

"Lovegood," a soft yet deep voice spoke, disturbing her from her thoughts.

Blaise Zabini had silently snuck up on her. She glanced up quizzically, appearing neither shaken nor disturbed by his stealthy approach. Very few things surprised Luna. In fact, she was fairly certain that nothing did. While Blaise Zabini would otherwise be an intimidating and imposing figure, she was not cowed or enraptured by his presence. Instead, she stared up at him with appraising and penetrating cornflower blue eyes.

It was he who appeared unnerved, if not slightly rattled, by her judging and calculating gaze.

"We need to talk," he demanded lightly, glancing down into her eyes.

Luna felt a tug at the back of her mind, and she shook her head, blinking rapidly. "There is no need for that," she stated rather hotly and stood up.

She was almost certain that he was trying to read her mind without her permission (and without a wand in his hand for that matter).

"We can speak outside," she suggested in even tones, and then smiled her usual wistful smile. "It's a beautiful day for a walk by the lake, don't you think?"

Luna picked up her wand and gathered her books, putting them in her satchel. Blaise's right eyebrow rose higher than she ever thought possible, and she was certain that it was about to disappear into his hairline entirely, never to be seen again. But then his quizzical look quickly morphed into an amused grin as he offered to take her satchel, following her out of the library—to have a talk by the lake.

**xXx**


	13. Men of Few Words

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Thirteen: Men of Few Words_

Neville Longbottom was a boy of few words.

True, he had a problem with speech and was what one would call a stutterer; however, he was also a boy who knew when to speak and when not to.

Neville Longbottom was also an observer.

Luna Lovegood shared this similar attribute with Neville. Luna, however, was more prone to say whatever was on her mind without censor, whereas Neville was more apt to keep quiet and step in or step up when only absolutely necessary. It made him a rather inconspicuous, innocuous sort. No one would ever suspect Neville: suspect him of excelling, suspect him of displaying acts of valour, or suspect him of being a spy.

No, Neville Longbottom was not a spy―not in the truest definition of the word. He was an observer. Remember? And he did what observers do best: observe.

As he sat in the common room with Ginny, helping her with her Herbology questions, he _observed _how Harry would turn from his place on the sofa in between his two best friends to steal a glance at the redhead. Ginny hadn't noticed, but Neville had. Neville wasn't blind; he knew that Harry had recently developed a crush on Ginny. He was always sneaking glances at her, acting shy around her. They were telltale signs.

For a long time, Neville had also watched the feisty red-haired girl. In the beginning, it was infatuation. Yes, Neville Longbottom once had a crush on Ginny Weasley. Is that so hard to believe? No, not really. Of course, that love (or crush) was unrequited, and Neville had come to terms with his 'lost love' years ago. He knew that she loved Harry, and he had come to love Ginny as a friend; so, in the end, Neville had begun to root for his two close friends.

Lately, however, things had begun to change. It was a subtle change, barely perceptible. Neville had noted, for a while now, that Ginny was no longer infatuated with Harry. This was, in part, due to the fact that she had dated that Ravenclaw boy (what was his name again—Patrick something? Or was it Michael?) at the beginning of last year and then, later on, Gryffindor's own Dean Thomas. Neville nknew that she no longer had a thing for Dean (she broke up with him at the beginning of the term), but she didn't appear all that interested in Harry any more either.

For a time, Neville thought that perhaps she had a thing for Blaise Zabini, as he had seen the tall bloke hanging around with she and Luna at the library before Christmas and even doing Potions work together in the dungeons (yeah, he saw that). Later, however, that suspicion had lost any merit when the golden-eyed Slytherin was seen talking with Luna by the lake when they thought no one else was around (someone is _always _around).

It turned out that it wasn't Blaise, but it _was _a Slytherin―of that he was certain. He had seen the way that Ginny would glance across the dinner table in the Great Hall, and the way her eyes would find _him_. That person that Neville had begun to suspect was someone whom he feared almost as much as Professor Snape, and he didn't want to believe that it was true. He prayed to Merlin that it wasn't, that it was just his imagination. But he couldn't hide what he saw; he couldn't disprove it. He was almost certain that Ginny Weasley had a thing for…Draco Malfoy.

What really gave him cause for concern, what made a lump lodge in his throat and a knot form in the pit of his stomach was the fact that Neville Longbottom _knew _that Draco Malfoy was up to no good. Oh yes, Neville knew all the devastating truths that the students of Hogwarts tried so desperately to hide: one of them being that Draco Malfoy was snooping about the seventh floor and entering the Unknowable Room for almost eight months now. Draco Malfoy, most likely a Death Eater, was planning something nefarious, something that would bring about the ruin of the good folk of Hogwarts, and he was going to bring Ginny Weasley down with him.

Yes, most assuredly, Draco Malfoy was up to no good.

**xXx**

Luna had delivered as promised, giving Ginny the dreamless draught recipe and a bottle of the sleep-aid as well. Ginny had noted that the blonde was wearing a rather worried expression on her face—a sight Ginny had never beheld on the carefree Ravenclaw. She seemed to appraise Ginny with an unmistakable look of concern in her eyes.

While Ginny was not as exceptionally bright as Hermione or as intuitive as Luna, she was rather perceptive in her own right. She couldn't shake the unmistakable feeling that Luna was aware of what was going on; she knew more than what she was letting on. And while that thought burned in the back of Ginny's mind, the redhead managed to sneak off to Draco's room later that day, delivering the grumpy Slytherin the draught that he had so desperately asked from her the night before.

It had become a routine, of sorts, over the following week for her to visit Draco at night and to check up on his dream (or dreamless) pattern—that, and to pore over his memories. She had convinced him to extract the memory of the lead up to Blaise admitting who he truly was, and Draco had begrudgingly submitted to her request. She had blushed a deep shade of pink when Blaise confessed to loving her. She knew it was a ruse, but the natural rouge came from Draco's reaction to Blaise's supposed confession is what gave her pause. The grey-eyed, stone-faced Slytherin appeared to be angry and jealous. She didn't quite know what to think of it, so she decided to be only partially mortified but mostly flattered.

Ginny was on her way to the aforementioned Slytherin's room, absently dwelling on Draco's reactions to whenever her name was mentioned in his memories, when a deep, familiar voice called her name.

"Ginevra."

Ginny turned, knowing exactly who it was. She decided to be bold and address him by his given name, just as he had so brazenly done with her.

"Morph—"

"Don't!" he interrupted, raising his hand to silence her. "Just call me Blaise."

"_Blaise_," she said, carefully enunciating his name with scorn, "what do you want?"

"It's not what _I_ want, Ginevra. It is what _you_ want," he replied in a low voice, his eyes glowing a rich honey colour.

"What I want is for you to leave me alone!" she snapped, glancing around to make sure that no other Slytherins were nearby.

"I don't doubt that," he rejoined softly, looking unaffected by her rude response. "But what you _think_ you want now isn't what you're going to want in the future."

"Save the cryptic double talk for the gods up high on Mount Olympus, Mor—er—Blaise," she retorted, unsure of why she could not bring herself to say his actual name.

"You'll discover my dialogue isn't as cryptic as you believe it to be, Ginevra," he said, bowing his head as he turned around, seeming intent on leaving the Gryffindor be. "Perhaps if you were to open yourself up to those who can understand and speak in riddles, like myself, then maybe you could finally perceive how I am actually trying to help you."

"Help me?" she cried indignantly, her fury metre rising. "You have said nothing to help me understand what is going on here!"

Blaise merely walked away, ignoring her cries to his back. Ginny then turned around in a huff and made her way to Draco's room, knocking soundly on his door from outside the dormitory.

"Enter" she heard him reply, and the door suddenly swung open.

"You're late," he stated blandly.

Draco stood in front of her, dressed in grey cashmere trousers and an unbuttoned white Oxford—his green and silver tie hung loose around his neck. She strode past him and lowered her hood as he closed the door behind her. Turning around, he crossed his arms over his half-naked chest.

"I had to go see Harry in the infirmary," she explained rather quickly, sounding hesitant.

Draco's look of annoyance turned into a bitter scowl as he dropped his arms. "Yes, and how is The Boy Who Scored?" he asked in an acrid tone, moving his hands to his shirt to button it.

"Fine," Ginny replied tersely.

The blond grunted in response, slumping down on his leather chair in front of the fireplace as he continued to work on the buttons.

"Malfoy, Blaise cornered me near the Entrance Hall," Ginny said quickly, still in a state of shock.

Draco's head snapped up, his fingers frozen on the last two buttons. "Are you okay?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Do I _look_ okay?" she asked a little too emotionally, bringing a hand dramatically to her chest.

"Yes," he replied, slowly appraising her from head to toe.

"Well…" She paused, scrunching her face in an unattractive manner. "Then I guess I am."

Ginny took a seat on the sofa across from where he sat, and he shook his head at her less than impressive display of histrionics, directing his attention back to his attire.

"I am a little frazzled though," she admitted, and Draco nodded his head in understanding. "I just ran straight here, but I can't always avoid him. We need to confront him at some point."

Draco finished buttoning his shirt and put his hands on his lap, staring pointedly at the redhead with a mixed look of annoyance and trepidation. "You feel like confronting a god, Weasley?" he asked, sniffing. "Okay. Go for it."

Ginny rolled her eyes at his seeming indifference. "We're both in this together, you know."

Draco shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and lurched forward, attempting to tie his tie without a mirror. Ginny leaned across the table and grabbed his tie in annoyance, expertly looping it into a Windsor Knot.

"So where are you going?" she asked as she sat back, smiling at the satisfactorily job she had done on his tie.

Draco stood up and walked over to the mirror and began adjusting, deeming her tie job adequate, and offered her a small smirk in the reflection.

"Hot date, Weasley," he replied, and then went back to preening himself.

Ginny folded her arms in front of her chest and crossed her legs. She wasn't sure why, but the thought of Malfoy going out on a date with some Slytherin bimbo (most likely Pansy) made her want to chew on rusted nails.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she replied, as she uncrossed her legs and stood up, walking over to his bedside cabinet. "Listen, I just finished bottling some more dreamless draught from a fresh batch I made yesterday." She took out a clear crystal phial and placed it on the wood surface. "I thought I'd drop it off before I went to Quidditch."

Draco turned around, no longer preening himself, and walked over to where Ginny stood. Reaching down to pick up the bottle, he inadvertently sandwiched her between himself and the bed.

"The big game's coming up soon, huh?" he asked with half-lidded eyes, failing to thank her for the draught.

She knew that he was grateful, and she also knew that he was trying to shamelessly flirt with her just to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Yeah, Slytherin's out now, thanks to you," she stated with a cheeky grin, expecting him to scowl in return.

Instead, he returned her grin with one even more charming. "You're welcome, Weasley."

She rolled her eyes and playfully pushed at him. "You are an incorrigible git," she sighed, and then yelped when he pushed her back.

His push, however, was a little too forceful, and she had to reach out and grab onto his tie to prevent herself from falling. Unfortunately, Draco did not wish to be throttled to death with an accessory, so he instinctively fell forward with her onto the bed.

Draco managed to brace himself up on his forearms that were balanced on either side of her head. Ginny still had his tie in her hand and had pulled his face in precariously close to hers. Their lips were inches apart. He smelled of aftershave and boy—his breathing coming in shallow and hot, sending shivers down her spine.

"Draco, I hope I'm not distur—"

"Shit!" Draco cursed, leaping up off Ginny as though he had suddenly transfigured into a mountain lion.

Pansy Parkinson had unabashedly strolled into Draco's room, uninvited, through the common room entrance and had spotted Ginny and Draco in a rather compromising position. Just as suddenly as the words had been cut from her mouth due to the sheer shock of having witnessed the object of her affection look as though he was about to snog a repugnant little red-haired Weasley, Pansy Parkinson hit the ground with a listless thud.

Draco opened his mouth and whipped his head around to look at Ginny. "What did you do?"

"I stunned her," Ginny replied, her wand clutched tightly in her hand.

For a moment, she thought that Draco was going to explode, but the look he was giving her was something akin to awe, not fury. He quickly turned his head from her and grabbed his wand, levitating Pansy as he closed the door to make sure no one else barged in.

"Seriously, Weasley, what's up with all the non-verbal spells?" he asked with a slight smile on his face, lowering Pansy onto his leather sofa. "We are just beginning to learn those now in _my_ year."

Ginny shrugged her shoulders indifferently, but the hint of a self-satisfied smirk began to form on her rosebud lips.

"I guess you have to be good at something," he commented wryly, earning a death glare from the redhead.

up a pillow from his bed and lobbed it at his head. Luckily, Draco still had his reflexes and was able to effortlessly dodge the feathered tactile.

"Shut it, Malfoy!" she growled, getting up from the bed to hesitantly approach Parkinson. "What are we going to do with her?"

"I guess I'll have to Obliviate her," Draco answered, grimacing. "Wipe this memory completely from her mind."

"And you talk about me and my non-verbal spells," Ginny remarked, making a face as she looked at him over her shoulder.

Draco rolled his eyes, and Ginny smirked once more, raising her hood.

"Same time tomorrow night?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah. You can see yourself out, Weasley."

When the redhead finally left the room, Draco tended to Pansy, Obliviating her mind. He selectively erased the memory of her walking into his room, interrupting he and the Weasley girl. He then swiftly removed Ginny's _Petrificus Totalus_ spell and began to guide a seemingly drunk acting Pansy towards the common room entrance door.

The Weasley girl had been performing a handful of non-verbal spells in front of him this past week. Perhaps he had never noticed before (most likely due to the fact that before this week, he had only spent time with her in a limited way: limited to snogging, that is), but the Weasley girl was more talented at magic than he had ever thought to give her credit for. He assumed that she was just decent at Potions. Apparently, she was quite skilled with the wand as well (this he could vouch for as having often been on the business end of her hexes).

"Good-evening, Pansy," he said to Parkinson, opening the door and showing her outside.

The pug-faced Slytherin girl nodded and mumbled something rather incoherent. She then stumbled out into the common room; heading for one of the sofa's to take a nap on. Draco stepped back inside and shook his head, walking over to his desk. He stared down at the Pensieve and then glanced over at the two unopened phials, two memories that he had shared with the Weasley girl. He waved his wand to clear away the bowl and grabbed the bottles, taking them over to his dresser drawer to hide them with his socks. He could have found somewhere safer to put them, but he preferred the thought of having them nearby.

Grabbing an empty phial, Draco let out a sigh and frowned. He had begun extracting more memories, unbeknownst to Ginny—every memory he could think of that he had of Blaise. Slowly, he began to pull out another memory, one that he wasn't particularly fond of: the memory Blaise and Ginny at Slughorn's Christmas party, the one where he had switched out Dumbledore's present for the poisoned oak mead. Draco found himself wishing that pulling out a memory could erase it entirely, like an Obliviation Charm.

"Hello, Draco," a deep voice chortled his name from the shadows, causing Draco to almost drop the ampoule as his heart threatened to leap out of his chest.

"Merlin's left nut! Zabini, what the bloody hell?" Draco cried, bringing a hand to his heart and then scowled, corking the bottle shut.

"Just dropping in to say 'Hello'," Blaise said, smirking, obviously pleased with the reaction he had caused. "I seem to be having a startling effect on people around here these days."

"Oh yes?" Draco asked sarcastically, placing the rose-coloured phial on top of his dresser. "So Weasley and I are not the only ones whom you grace with your presence?"

Blaise shook his head and laughed softly. He seemed to be in a genuinely good mood; he almost appeared human.

"You're the one who let Pansy in here then," Draco stated, the answer being obvious.

"Who else?" Blaise asked rhetorically, smirking. "I just gave her a little encouragement. And as you know, your doors are never locked to me." His grin widened, like a Cheshire cat.

"Why?" Draco asked, not really sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"I wanted to see how far you would go to keep your dark little secret," Blaise replied, taking a seat on one of the high-back leather chairs..

"What dark secret?" Draco asked, looking perplexed.

"You and Ginevra," Blaise answered with a wave of his hand, glancing down at the sparse literature that littered the blond's table.

"_An Anthology of Greek Gods_," Blaise read with an upward inflection. He picked up the book and frowned. "Seriously, there are no books dedicated to me?"

"There is no Ginevra and I," Draco said behind gritted teeth, ignoring the golden-eyed god perusing his research literature.

"Keep telling yourself that," Blaise retorted, taking in a deep breath and throwing down the anthology in disgust.

Draco slowly walked over to where the umber-tanned Slytherin sat and pointed a long slender finger at his chest. "I'm not going to stop taking the draught," he announced suddenly, making Blaise sigh.

"It will not stop the inevitable."

"And what's that?" Draco asked, and then shook his head. "Oh, right, you can't tell me." He flopped down on the sofa across from Blaise in sheer tiredness. He was supposed to have gone up to the Room of Requirement an hour ago. "Listen, Mor—"

"Call me Blaise, Draco," Blaise stressed rather forcefully, folding his hands onto his lap. "In actuality, Draco, I made Parkinson come into the room because I wanted to see how Ginevra would respond."

"And?" Draco asked, turning his hand upright and waving it in front of his chest in an impatient manner.

"You two are not quite what I expected," he answered thoughtfully. "I guess I figured it would be like before." He played his tongue on the inside of his cheek as he observed the range of emotions that shifted on Draco's face.

"_What_ would be like before?" Draco asked hesitantly, unsure at what Blaise was driving at.

The dark Slytherin clicked his tongue along his incisor and grinned. In a dramatic flourish, he uncrossed his legs and stood up, almost jumping to his feet in a playfully deceptive manner.

Draco gripped the arm of the sofa with his right hand, wishing like hell he had the wood of his wand to grasp right now instead of soft Italian leather.

"Taking that potion will not prevent what is destined to happen, Draco," Blaise said somewhat cheerily, pointing a finger square at the grey-eyed blond's chest. "Right now it only hinders the inevitable, and that's not what I can do _to_ you but rather what you both need to know in order to _help_ yourselves."

"Help ourselves with what?" Draco asked, blinking rapidly.

"The answers you seek," Blaise replied with a wink.

"And where do we find these answers?" He really could not resist asking.

"Isn't it obvious, Draco?" Blaise grinned evilly and stepped into the shadows. "The answers are in your dreams."

**xXx**

The month of April ushered in spring with sunny showers and plants blossoming anew. It also brought about several amusing and joyful events, such as the ending of Ron and Lavender's deeply disturbing farce of a relationship and the return of Katie Bell. Additionally, Ron and Harry had both recovered from their separate injuries, and Gryffindor was less than a month away from its final game against Ravenclaw. The victory silver cup was close at hand.

Draco did not care for any of these events. He would not have known of any of them had Ginny not come to his room every other night, prattling on about Hogwarts' gossip in his ear. It wasn't as though he didn't appreciate her beguilement. With the pressure of fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, avoiding both Blaise and Snape, and working with the feisty red-haired girl on discovering a solution for their 'dream problem', he welcomed a distraction of any kind. Tonight, however, Draco had no such scheduled research meeting with Ginny, and he was decidedly stressed from his recent battle with the uncooperative Cabinet. Tonight, he would take to the Quidditch pitch and fly.

After dinner, he had promptly gone down to his room to grab his broom and don a light riding cloak. He even managed to sneak outside without being detected. Due to the many events that had occurred over the school year, free time on the grounds had been restricted past dinner during the weekdays, so one had to find other ways to manipulate curfew.

Draco stepped outside and inhaled the cool, crisp air, smiling to himself as he stretched his stiff limbs. It was a happy and relieved smile—the first real happiness he had felt in ages. He couldn't wait to take to the air. The smile on his face quickly faded when he spotted a familiar pair standing not some fifty metres in front of him: it was Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.

Without thinking, he quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm—another trick he had learnt from his Aunt Bellatrix over the summer holidays. He slowly edged in closer to overhear their conversation, making his way towards the bleachers.

"I thought I'd find you out here," Harry said, smiling brightly at Ginny, who was dressed in full Quidditch gear.

"Yeah." She gripped her broom tightly and grinned at him. "I thought I'd practice my flying."

_Sickening_, Draco thought to himself with disgust. _Why exactly am I standing out here watching these two flirt with one another?_

"You don't need to practice, Gin. You're a great flyer!" Harry exclaimed with emphasis, blushing slightly.

Draco rolled his eyes. _You have got to be kidding me._

"Are you kidding?" Ginny retorted, rolling her eyes (in a much nicer manner than Draco had). "Harry, I can't fly anywhere near as good as you or Mal—" She stopped herself.

_Had she just meant to say 'Malfoy'? Me?_

"Mal?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side as he furrowed his brow in confusion.

Ginny flexed her palm and opened and closed her mouth in a vain attempt to stall for a plausible answer (also known as a lie). It never came.

"It doesn't matter," she said, laughing pathetically at her own ineptitude in coming up with a good cover.

Harry laughed along with her, unsure of what to say or do. "So, uhm..." he began, and Draco's grip on his broomstick tightened.

_Bloody fantastic_, Draco thought bitterly. _Pothead is going to ask the little Weaslette out. How charming._

"Yes?" Ginny asked, looking both concerned and puzzled.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out some time..." He paused and looked up at her. "Just you and me."

"Wanker!" Draco breathed under his breath, and for a moment he thought he might have said it a little too loud because the redhead turned her head and glanced in his direction.

"Harry, I—" She took in a deep breath and shook her head.

Draco leaned forward, straining his ears to hear what her response was going to be.

"Harry, there was a time when you were my world," she admitted, smiling softly, and he smiled in return. "I would have done anything to have you ask me what you are right now."

_But?_ Draco asked in his mind, trying his very best not to shout the question out loud.

"But?" Harry asked, looking doubtful and crestfallen.

"But," Ginny continued, looking down, "I like someone else." She looked up into his green eyes and saw the hurt.

"Who?" Harry questioned, shaking his head.

_Yes, 'who'?_ Draco asked as well, leaning forward so far to the point where if anyone were to see him, they would think that he was defying gravity.

Ginny paused, smiling slyly. "Someone that neither you nor Ronald would approve of," she explained as diplomatically as possible.

Harry's brow creased, and he was about to open his mouth again when Ginny quickly cut him off with a chaste kiss to the cheek.

Draco bristled at the display of affection and almost snapped the neck off his broom.

"You will always be my first and only crush, Harry Potter." She smiled and then mounted her broom, taking off into the soon-to-be night sky.

"But I will never be your love," Harry finished sadly, watching her soar in the air.

_And I will make sure of that, Potter_, Draco said with a smile and a bounce in his step, taking off back towards the school.

He didn't need a broom ride any more. He felt better already.

**xXx**

Draco rubbed at his temples and sighed. He and Weasley had been poring over his memories of Blaise for almost two months now. They had also been researching as much as they could about Morpheus and Horcruxes, yet they could not penetrate the plans that the god had in store for them nor discover the importance of Horcruxes in regards to dreams and visions.

"I think we should go back to researching Magical Bondage," Ginny said with a sigh, rubbing at tired, blood-shot eyes.

"There's more information on Horcruxes and Dark Magic than there is on Magical Bondage," Draco replied in clipped tones, looking positively frustrated.

He leaned back on the sofa near the fireplace and threw down yet another useless book onto the heap that adorned the table.

"So have you seen him lately?" Ginny asked absently, stretching out on Draco's leather sofa.

"Just in class. That's it," Draco answered, tilting his head to the side as he observed her take up half the couch.

"Do you suppose he's avoiding us like we've been avoiding him?" she asked, arm outstretched as she brought up her feet to rest on his thighs.

Draco shrugged and rested his hands on her ankles. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately: shrugging his shoulders and letting her rest her feet on him, allowing himself to become familiar with the redhead. He was becoming soft. Naturally, he blamed lack of sleep and a wily god of dreams.

"Well, we have exhausted these memories as much as we can," Ginny said with another stretch and yawn, rolling over onto her back. "We're going to have to eventually talk to him."

Draco took a finger and flicked it along the insole of her foot, causing her to squeak out loud and flail both her feet in the air.

"Why bother?" he asked, grinning at her reaction. "He can't tell us what his mission is: he swore an oath."

Ginny glanced at him sideways and brought a socked foot up to his chest and poked at it with her big toe.

Normally, he would have been thoroughly disgusted if anyone had even tried to touch him with such familiarity, including her. Lately, however, Draco had found himself beginning to tolerate the little idiosyncrasies of the intrepid Weasley girl. She was growing on him like a fungus―a tolerable, cute fungus (if there were such a thing).

"I'm sure he can still give us hints," she said with a little pout, lowering her foot and placing it back down on his lap. "I mean, he has bent the rules before: giving me the letter, revealing himself to you—"

"Draco, are you going up today?"

Both Ginny and Draco sat up and turned to look at the common room entrance door, hearing a familiar voice ask a rather ambiguous question from outside the room.

_Who is that?_ Draco could see Ginny mouth the question with a shrug of her shoulders, lifting her hand in query.

Draco shook his head and scowled, bringing a finger to his lips, indicating that she should keep her gob shut.

_Crabbe_, he mouthed, and she nodded her head in understanding and then stuck her tongue out at him, obviously unimpressed with him shushing her.

"Yeah, I'll be going there later on!" he shouted back, glancing at Ginny through the corner of his eye. "I'll send for you and Gregory when I'm ready to go. Give me an hour, okay?"

Crabbe mumbled back an acknowledgement and left his door, at least Draco hoped so.

"So where is 'up there'?" Ginny asked after a moment of silence, making sure that Crabbe had actually left.

"Hogsmeade," Draco lied effortlessly.

Draco was known for his silver-forked tongue, and he had no fear that the little Gryffindor had seen through his lie, but he still felt like removing Crabbe's nuts for almost giving away his secret. The lugnut might as well have advertised it to everyone in Slytherin. Crabbe and Goyle had their uses, but at times like these, Draco was at a loss for what those uses were. The two weren't exactly masters of cunning and deception.

"Oh?" she asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow at this.

Right. She wasn't stupid.

"I have a sweet tooth!" he exclaimed defensively, lowering his eyes in a haughty manner, which caused her to laugh out loud.

"Okay then," Ginny relented, "but I expect you to bring me back some cherry liquorice." She then sat up and began to put on her shoes.

"Expect all you want, Freckles. You'll get what I give you," he said in a self-righteous tone, and she hit him with her shoe. He caught it and furrowed his brow, mouthing 'Ow' rather petulantly.

"So are you ever going to invite _me_ there?" she asked, as he handed her back her shoe. She put it on with a grin.

"What, to Hogsmeade?" he asked, watching her slip on her footwear, slightly confused by her question.

"No, to the Seventh Circle of Hell," she retorted facetiously, kickingat his shin. "Yes, to Hogsmeade, ya ponce!"

Draco frowned and moved further down the sofa, away from her pointed feet. She was a rather violent bird.

"Well, Weasley, with a mouth like that, I'm sure you'll get your invitation to Hell before I get mine," he said wryly, moving away quickly, determined to dodge one of her projectiles or flailing limbs.

As luck would have it, she hit the leather sofa instead of his shin this time around.

"As for a Hogsmeade trip," he said with a grin, feeling rather smug and triumphant, "I'm sure your brother would _love_ that."

She laughed at his response and then lazily tucked an errant strand of red hair behind her ear. "Mmm, yes, and Harry too," she added, giving him a flirtatious wink.

Draco scowled at the mention of Potter's name, wondering why she had to bring the useless pillock into the conversation.

"You think it'd make Pothead jealous?" he asked, genuinely curious. He really did hate the ego-inflated git.

She slapped at his thigh with her hand. "Stop calling him that!"

Draco winced and glared at Ginny through narrowed eyes. "Freckles, that bloody well hurt!" He rubbed his thigh and pouted, wondering why he let this girl get away with so much. "And you didn't answer my question."

"Does it matter what he thinks?" she asked seriously.

Grimacing, Draco drew his head back in disgust. "No," he answered truthfully, and then looked away.

They both sat on his sofa in silence, staring at the fireplace.

"Malfoy, why did you attack Neville?" she asked quietly.

Scowling, Draco pursed his lips in the form of a frown, letting out an annoyed sigh as he rolled his eyes dramatically for effect. "Weasley, you've asked me this question I don't know how many times—"

"I'll stop asking it when you start answering it," she interrupted impatientl.

Draco lifted his head towards the ceiling, imploring the gods for serenity in his usual manner. He turned his head to the side and looked down at her, noting the vexing look she was giving him. He took in a deep breath and set his jaw.

"I—I thought he was snogging you," he answered tersely, his body rigid.

"You what?" she asked, moving closer to him as though she could not hear.

"I _thought_ that he was _snogging_ you!" he said through gritted teeth, hating that she was making him repeat himself.

"So that's a reason to hex someone?"

"Someone snogging you?" he asked sincerely, and she nodded her head. He thought on it for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, Weasley. Yes, it is."

She let out a laugh and shook her head. He supposed that he hadn't given her the answer that she had expected.

"Malfoy, I had no idea," she said sarcastically, almost purring his name.

He scowled. "Don't flatter yourself, Freckles."

"I'll try not to," Ginny assured him, grinning and shaking her head.

Draco leaned back on the sofa and rolled his eyes. Lately, she had been managing to bring out his flirtatious side—a side to himself that even he didn't know existed. One could almost say that he was being charming. Of course, he could be charming when the occasion called for it, but since when did gallivanting with a Weasley count as an occasion? A good one, that is.

"Are you still going to help me study for my Potions O.W.L.s Friday night?" she asked in a sanguine manner, probably what she considered to be fetching and sweet.

He rested his head back against the top of the sofa and exhaled loudly. Draco had forgot that he had promised to help her with Potions. He had been helping her out a lot lately. It was most unnatural and not likely beneficial to his health, all this 'helping'.

"It depends," he answered, turning his face to give her a serious look. "Will I receive home-made chocolate chip cookies as payment?"

Ginny smiled. "Yes. Baked with love, even," she answered with an emphatic nod of her head, sending red curls bouncing.

"Bake it with _real_ ingredients, and it's a deal," he said with a raised eyebrow, rising to his feet and grabbing her robes.

Ginny stood up and turned, allowing him to help her with her clothes. As she made her way to his door, raising her hood up, she turned to face him.

"You know, Malfoy, you're somewhat of a decent guy," she stated simply, watching him stand in the middle of his room with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, Weasley," he began with a bemused expression on his face, "that's somewhat of a compliment."

She snorted inelegantly, opening the door to leave. "Sod off, Malfoy."

"Keep dreaming, Freckles.".

**xXx**

Ginny stepped outside and grinned. It was the end of April and Katie Bell was back at Hogwarts. They had been practising overtime for the final Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Taking in breath of fresh air, Ginny began to sprint towards the changing rooms when something bright and yellow caught her eye in the sun. Ginny turned to see Luna Lovegood sitting against a tall oak tree, her long blonde hair fluttering in the cool breeze. The Ravenclaw girl appeared to be in deep conversation, talking animatedly to someone that Ginny could not see.

Ginny took a step forward and then another step back as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, trying to prevent a loud gasp from escaping past her lips. Luna had sat back, farther out from the tree, and a familiar head popped out from behind it, giving the blonde a charming smile as he playfully snatched a book from her loose grip.

It was Blaise Zabini.

Ginny dropped her hand and frowned. What was Luna doing with Blaise? Did she know who he truly was? Was he using her?

She wanted to run over there and confront them, confront Blaise, this Morpheus character. She wanted to grab Luna and drag her away to safety and hide her.

"Ginny, are you coming to practice, or are you just going to stand there looking like an idiot?"

The redhead turned around to face Katie Bell, who was staring down at Ginny with a small smirk on her face.

"Uh, yeah, I'm coming," she said, nodding curtly as she turned around.

Both she and Katie headed towards the changing rooms to get ready for practice. Ginny turned her head around one last time to catch another look at Blaise and Luna. She would have to confront Luna after Quidditch practice and warn her about the dangers she was facing by consorting with the god of dreams.

**xXx**

Luna grabbed her book back from Blaise and frowned, shaking her head at his childish antics. He had asked her to come outside for another talk, but it seemed as though all he wanted to do was fool around and tease her.

"Blaise, what do you want?" she asked somewhat impatiently.

The handsome Slytherin threw her an annoyed look, as though she had just spoilt all of his fun. He then drew a knee up and hugged his arms around the bent leg, tilting his head back to rest against the oak tree.

"I want you to do what I asked you to do several weeks ago," he answered after a moment's pause, turning his face to look at her.

Luna frowned.

Their earlier talk by the lake had been rather uneventful: Blaise had simply told her that his friend, Draco Malfoy, had a crush on her friend, Ginny Weasley, and that he wanted her to help them 'get together'. It was all rather cliché, in her opinion―the best mate wanting to set his friend up with hers. Was he gay or something?

Luna had heard that expression before: men who act feminine are gay. She wondered what being feminine had anything to do with being happy, but, as always, she decided it best not to question colloquial sayings.

Luna had also wondered why Blaise hadn't told her what she had figured out quite some time ago, why he hadn't revealed his secret to her. Perhaps he didn't trust her. Well, why should he?

She had briefly considered asking him the other week when they took the stroll by the lake, but she had decided to wait, to let him make the first move. Luna also found herself wanting to understand what Blaise's true motivations were in having both Draco and Ginny together. They seemed to be an unlikely couple, although it was obvious to anyone that they liked each other. This thought, of course, caused another odd adage to spring to mind: even a blind person could see that the two had feelings for each other.

Luna shook her head. That was ridiculous, of course, as a blind person could not see. It was a figurative expression, she knew, but it still sounded rather stupid. The fact was that it took a person with actual sight to see the way that Ginny and Draco would look at each other when they thought no one else was looking. But the thing is, people always saw; someone was _always_ around.

So why did Blaise want them together, and why did he need _her_ help?

"Why won't you tell me who you are?" she finally asked.

Although her question was instantaneous, it was almost unnerving how she had gone over all that she had in the back of her mind in less than a second.

Blaise glanced at her sideways. "What do you mean?" he asked hesitantly.

"It's a straightforward question," she retorted in a light-hearted tone, ignoring his question altogether.

Blaise leaned back against the tree and scowled. He looked as though he was stalling for answers.

Luna drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, resting her cheek on the top of her knee. "You are a god, yet you refuse to reveal this to me as though you assume I would not know," she stated almost absently with a shake of her head.

Blaise's mouth literally fell open in shock, turning to look straight into her bright blue eyes. "How did you—"

"Don't!" Luna cried in a reprimanding tone. She raised her chin and glared at Blaise, who had tried, at that moment, to read her mind. "If you want to ask questions, ask them." Her eyes narrowed. "Do not invade the privacy of my mind without invitation."

Blaise's right eyebrow rose high, disappearing into his hairline. Then he brought his arms up to his chest and crossed them in a petulant and defeated manner.

"How is it that you can prevent me from reading your mind?" he asked sulkily, finally coming to terms with the fact that the blonde had somehow discovered his secret. "I wasn't aware that you were skilled in Occlumency."

Luna pursed her lips into a frown. "You didn't answer my question," she said, and then shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "Should it really matter if I was skilled at Occlumency or not? You're a god and can obviously perform wandless magic. The _real_ question is why you need to perform Legilimency to read my mind in the first place."

Blaise shook his head and let out a short laugh. "That _is_ the real question, isn't it?" he asked with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "You see, while in this earthly form, I am restricted to the same set of rules that you are."

"If you were in your god-like form you wouldn't be restricted then?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

Blaise nodded in affirmation. "Right, but then what fun would I have in doing things the easy way?" He then regarded her with a dark, serious expression. "How did you know? How did you figure out that I am a god?"

Luna shrugged, still smiling. "Little things, I guess."

He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" he asked, a dubious look plastered across his dark face.

Luna turned her head and leaned back against the oak tree. "The books you read, the interest you had in Ginny's Potions project, the fact that you always seemed to show up at the most convenient and inconvenient times," she listed without taking a breath.

Blaise scowled. "Those actions do not hint that I am a god," he stated with incredulity, as if he was convinced there was more than what she was letting on to.

"No, but they hint that you are hiding something," she answered, turning to look at him. "It was really how you talked to Ginny, how you would lead her on or tease her, talking about her dreams and how Draco Malfoy was somehow involved. Then I noticed that Draco was taking out a lot of books on dreams and Divination."

Blaise brought a large hand to his face and sighed in defeat.

"Why would Draco do that, and why would Ginny need to make a Dreamless Draught?" she asked mostly to herself, shaking her head. "I mean, I have heard of Sleeping Draughts, but why specifically brew a potion that prevents someone from dreaming?"

She glanced up at him and saw that he was smiling, nodding his head for her to continue.

"I knew the draught was not for Ginny, as Professor Snape had mentioned that he had made her that exact potion in the past, and it never worked for her. I had to assume that she was making it for Draco since he was the one researching dreams. He even went to see Professor Firenze."

"You were eavesdropping?" Blaise asked, an obvious look of shock evident on his face.

"No, I happened to have had class right after he went to see the professor," Luna explained logically, without a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"That still doesn't explain how you put two and two together," Blaise stated with a frown. "How were you able to deduce that _I_ was the cause for Draco's and Ginevra's dreams?"

Luna glanced up at him and smiled. "Your god-like form is a shadow, is it not?" she asked, and Blaise's frown deepened. "You spend an awful lot of time outside of Professor Dumbledore's office too—"

"You were stalking me!" he cried, violently turning his body towards hers.

"You're not the only one capable of spying on others," she replied with a smile.

Blaise let out a roar of laughter and slapped his hand against his thigh. "Lovegood, you _are_ brilliant!"

Luna smiled, but continued, "Besides, with everything that has been going on around here lately, especially all the wacky dreams, it only seemed logical that the god of dreams was involved…" She paused. "Should I call you Morph—"

"No!" he said abruptly, cutting her off with a sheepish grin. "That name has been made Taboo, so I'll have to ask you to address me by my human name, Blaise."

The look he gave her was warm and inviting, almost tender. Luna felt her heart grow light and her stomach flutter, and she recalled some expression about butterflies in one's stomach. Yes, that is what she felt―it was as though winged-creatures were wreaking havoc in her upper intestines.

"Okay, Blaise." She returned his smile with her natural sweetness, batting her eyelashes almost coquettishly as she averted his gaze. "So why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes were wide and inquisitive, staring into his.

Blaise's grin lessened, but it did not fade. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone who I am," he answered and looked down. "I swore an oath."

"Oh" was all that Luna could reply with, unable to formulate a question.

"But you figured it out on your own, so I didn't break any rules," he reassured her with a wink, and she smiled brightly back up at him.

"That's good," she said, still unsure of who a god could have sworn an oath to; however, she was not going to press the issue―not yet, at least. "So why do you need me to help Ginny and Draco get together?"

"Because the fate of your freedom depends on it," he answered bluntly.

They both then turned to rest their heads on the trunk of the oak tree, no more words needing to be spoken. Instead, Luna bit her lip and frowned. It was a ridiculous notion, highly unlikely, and extremely illogical that her freedom depended on Draco and Ginny. However, Luna saw the truth in Blaise's golden eyes as he spoke, and she found herself believing him. At that moment, the astute Ravenclaw had finally begun to understand that her world was in danger and that, perhaps, not all of her faith in and hope of victory had to rest solely on one green-eyed bespectacled boy. Maybe she, too, could help make a difference.

**xXx**

Later that night, after Quidditch practice, Ginny was finally able to locate Luna in the library. She was sitting with Neville. Both appeared to be in deep discussion over Herbology. Both glanced up at Ginny as she approached, smiling, and Luna patted the seat beside her.

"Hi, Ginny," Luna said, as Ginny took a seat.

"Luna, I need to talk to you," Ginny said breathlessly, wasting no time.

"About what?" Luna asked with bright round eyes, and Neville turned his head and leaned forward, starring intently at Ginny.

"It's about Blaise," Ginny replied hesitantly, a little uncomfortable with having Neville overhear their conversation.

Luna and Neville exchanged glances and then swivelled their heads back to stare at Ginny expectantly.

"What about him?" Luna asked, sounding perplexed, but there was a look of knowing in her eyes that gave Ginny pause.

"I don't think you should be hanging around him any more," she answered in a matter-of-fact tone, waving her hands in front of her chest for emphasis.

"Why not?" the blonde asked, piercing Ginny's gaze with her sea-blue eyes.

Ginny scoffed and looked at Neville for encouragement and support. "It's Blaise Zabini, Luna. He's a Slytherin!" she exclaimed, as if this was reason enough to not want to hang around the mysterious mocha-skinned boy.

"So?" Luna looked more confused than upset. "You're a Gryffindor, and I hang around with you," she stated simply, tilting her head to the side to examine the redhead. "Why do you care?"

Ginny opened her mouth and closed it. Well, the blonde had a point, but she couldn't very well tell both Luna and Neville that the reason Luna should not hang out with Blaise Zabini was because he was a god, could she?

"Luna's right, Ginny," Neville said, speaking up, causing Ginny to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Why do you care? There's nothing that precludes us from interacting with students from other houses." He looked shy, at first, but then squared his shoulders in an attempt to not let the feisty redhead bowl him over. "You dated a Ravenclaw, Ginny, and Luna here is our friend. It is not up to you to decide who she can or cannot be friends with."

Ginny opened her mouth to protest but then closed it once more, looking defeated. Neville was right, but she couldn't have her friend in danger. She had to convince her.

"But Blaise is different. S-Slytherin is different," she stuttered, searching vainly for a sound excuse.

Neville and Luna exchanged knowing glances—again—and Ginny bristled with indignation. How much did they know?

"How is Blaise different?" Luna asked with a slight smile, her eyes round and inquisitive.

"He just is, Luna! You can't trust him, he's—"

"Ginny, enough!" Neville cried, and both Ginny and Luna looked up at him with sudden alarm. "Luna can be friends with whomever she wants. We don't give you lectures about sneaking off into the Slytherin dormitories late at night."

Ginny's eyes widened in shock. "I—"

"How _are_ you able to sneak into the Slytherin dormitories without being caught?" Luna asked curiously, cutting Ginny off and apparently not at all shocked by Neville's revelation.

"She has a pair of Slytherin robes," Neville replied blandly with a roll of his eyes, causing Ginny to almost choked on her own phlegm. "I've seen her sneaking out of her room late at night to go there."

Ginny brought her hands onto the table in anger and surprise. "How did—"

"The point is that we all have our secrets, Ginny," Neville interrupted condescending, seeming rather unimpressed with her attitude. "We all have mates that our other friends would not approve of, but it is not up to us to decide who others should or should not hang out with."

Luna turned to Neville and smiled sweetly at him, putting a hand on his shoulder, as he glanced down, bashful. "Thank you, Neville."

"You're welcome, Luna," he replied shyly, and they both turned to look at Ginny with small frowns on their faces.

Ginny took in a deep breath and sighed. She was at a loss for words. Somehow her friends knew—knew more than what they had ever let on in the past. It was wrong of her to assume that they were ignorant and try to tell them what to do or tell them what was best. She should have told them. She should have confided in them. She should have been a friend. Instead, they were teaching her the true meaning of friendship.

"Neville, Luna, I..." She paused, unable to find the words. Saying that she was sorry just wasn't good enough. "I didn't mean..." She glanced down at her hands.

"When you're comfortable with telling us what's really going on, we'll be here," Neville said reassuringly, with a small smile on his face.

Luna also smiled and reached forward, taking Ginny's hand into her own and squeezing it gently. Ginny lowered her head and returned a feeble smile of her own. Nodding her head, Ginny found herself glad that her friends were more understanding than she was.

Luna let go of her hand first and began to stuff her satchel with books. Neville, too, stood up, grabbing his own rutsack and helping Luna with hers. All three had class and could not sit around and talk any longer.

"We'll see you later, Ginny," Neville said with a nod of his head.

Ginny frowned as she watched them leave. She then bowed her head into her hands and sighed. She knew what Neville and Luna were trying to tell her, trying to point out what a hypocrite she was. However, she had convinced herself that hanging out with Draco Malfoy was entirely different from Luna Lovegood hanging out with a god—Blaise or Morpheus or whatever his name was. He was dangerous; Malfoy was not.

Raising her head, Ginny and stood up. She would have to tell Luna and Neville what was really going on, but first she would have to find physical proof to show Luna and persuade her of her good intentions. She had to show Luna who Blaise truly was.

**xXx**


	14. The Big Game

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Fourteen: The Big Game_

May had finally arrived, and it was time for the big game: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. It was Ginny Weasley against Cho Chang. Harry was in detention, still serving time for what he had done to Draco last semester, and so Ginny was filling in as Seeker. She was as nervous as she was excited.

"Hey," Ginny greeted the tall blond Slytherin, lowering her hood as she stepped into his room.

Draco looked up at her from his book and raised an eyebrow, observing the redhead stride into his room only hours before her big match.

"Hey, Freckles." He placed his book on his lap. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the big game?"

"Nerves," she replied with a simple shrug of her shoulders. She walked over to the sofa and plopped herself down on the leather cushion.

"You'll do fine, Weasley," he reassured her awkwardly, and then cleared his throat.

He knew that she was a rather good Quidditch player, not as good as he, mind you, but it felt inappropriate to give solace to someone you were supposed to hate. But the kicker in that was that he didn't hate her; he had actually come to like the spunky redhead. Still, comforting someone, even a friend, was still rather foreign for Draco Malfoy.

"Thanks, Malfoy," she said sarcastically, looking up at him with a knowing smirk on her face.

Draco found himself smirking despite himself. How had she picked up his damn smirk so quickly and effortlessly, he didn't know. The stupid Weasley girl was stealing his patented facial expressions, and it annoyed him less than he would have thought.

"So, what are you here for, Freckles? Stress release?" he offered with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She snorted. "You wish, Malfoy." She shook her head, but a smile still lingered on her lips. "I was wondering if I could borrow your Pensieve. I wanted to go over a couple of my own memories and yours again on the weekend. You know, to see if there was something that we might have missed."

Draco frowned and brought his hands to his lap, setting his book beside his thigh. "Sure, but I don't know how much you're going to get from looking at memories that we have spent the better part of two months going over."

She nodded her head in reluctant acquiescence. "Yeah, I know, but it couldn't hurt," she rejoined, offering him a sheepish grin.

Draco frowned. "I guess not," he admitted, and then shook his head and stood up. "Sure, you can take the bowl. I'll just get it for you."

As he went to get his wand on his bedside cabinet to conjure the stone basin, Ginny walked over to his dresser and picked up the rose-coloured phial that sat on top and pocketed it. Draco turned around and handed her the Pensieve, which she readily took.

"Thanks," she said with a slight nod, and Draco pursed his lips together, shoving her to the side so that he could rummage through his sock drawer.

"Here." He offered her one clear and one blue-coloured phial. "This is the memory of mine and Blaise's discussion about the dreams," he said stiffly, holding up the blue bottle. "You can put your own memories in the clear one, which is empty."

Ginny made an 'O' shape with her mouth and furrowed her brow, taking the two ampoules from him. Draco had thought to question her since she appeared to be staring rather intently at the two phials in her hand. He was fairly certain that he had taught her how to extract a memory and had told her that each memory was different, which tinted the crystal bottles accordingly. He really should have labelled them, but then he never expected to share his memories with anyone else.

"Well, I guess I better get going," she said in a light tone, pocketing the phials and holding the bowl close to her stomach as she raised her hood.

Draco could hear the ting sound as the bottles clinked together, and he flinched. He showed her to the door and opened it, and then she turned to face him, smiling shyly.

"Good luck, Ginevra," he said rigidly, bringing a hand behind his head to scratch at his silver-blond hair.

"Thanks, Draco," she replied, beaming. She then averted her eyes and licked at her lower lip, shifting from foot to foot. She appeared nervous. "Uh, are you coming to the game later?"

His eyes widened, and his breath caught for a moment at the intense look in her amber-coloured eyes.

"Nah, probably not," he admitted, shaking his head as he cleared is throat. "I really don't like Gryffindors all that much, so I'd be forced to cheer for Ravenclaw." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and offered her a half-hearted shrug.

Ginny laughed. "We couldn't have that," she said in a mock admonishing tone.

"No," Draco agreed, shaking his head. "I think a part of me would die."

Ginny laughed even louder and then paused. "Well, we'll probably have a thing afterwards," she stated slowly, almost as if she was about to invite him to this 'thing' but then changed her mind. "Did you want to get together tomorrow?"

Draco slowly shook his head. "Ah, I am going to be busy all day Saturday." He saw the look of disappointment on her face, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "How about Sunday night?"

"Sure," she replied eagerly, and then looked at him sideways. "You sneaking off to Hogsmeade again?"

"I have a meeting with the publisher of PlayWitch," Draco answered seriously. "I'm going to be the June spread."

Ginny let out a laugh as Draco remained stone-faced and impassive. "Yeah, well, I'll make sure to pick up copy of that," she said, turning around. "See you Sunday, Malfoy."

She waved a hand at him and took off out of the dungeons towards her own room.

"Take care, Freckles," he said quietly, watching her go.

He closed the door and turned around to look at his room and sighed. He hadn't planned on going to the Quidditch match even if he had wanted to, which he didn't. Since Potter was in detention and Snape was supervising it, Draco figured that he could make his way to the Room of Requirement unhindered. He decided that he might as well work on the Vanishing Cabinet for the day. He was actually coming along fairly well; it would most likely be a few weeks or a month before he would have it operational and be able to signal the others to come through. He had considered getting Crabbe or Goyle to test it out first—no way was he going to be trapped inside the Cabinet, unable to get out on either side.

Draco walked into the common room and grimaced, peering around, finding the room empty. Everyone must have gone to the game, including his witless minions. He would have to save the human testing phase for later. He would still go up to the seventh floor to do some work and try to think of another way to get rid of Dumbledore.

Swallowing hard, Draco felt bile rise to his throat. He shook his head and put on his determined face. He was sure that he just wasn't feeling well today—it had nothing to do with guilt or having second thoughts. He had to do this. He couldn't very well let his mother and father down. If he didn't complete the task assigned to him by Voldemort, his parents would die. Draco had to be the responsible one. He had to be a man.

Going back into his room, Draco sat around for half an hour, hoping that he'd hear someone enter the common room. His hopes were dashed. Instead, he got up and donned his robes, slipping his wand into a free pocket and then exited his room, making his way out the Slytherin dormitories and up the stairs towards the Entrance Hall. Just as he exited the dungeons, he heard a familiar voice.

"Minerva, have you seen Mister Malfoy around at all recently?" Professor Snape asked the Gryffindor Head of House, who was in full colours, looking ready to go out to the stands and cheer for her House.

"No, I'm afraid not, Severus," she replied through tight lips, appraising the dreadfully pale DADA professor with tired yet very alert eyes . "Perhaps he is at the game?" She turned around to look at him fully, crossing her bony arms in front of her torso.

"Perhaps," Snape replied, drawing out the last syllable with a look of disgust. "Well, I must be getting back to supervising Potter's detention." He gave Professor McGonagall an arrogant smirk, watching her left eye twitch and her thin lips draw tightly into a frown. "Good luck with the game."

Draco watched as the Transfiguration professor's face contorted into a look of pure acidity, as though she had just finished sucking on a lemon.

"Yes, thank you, Severus," she retorted acerbically, and then turned on her heel and headed off outside to go watch the game.

Draco went back down the other set of stairs, afraid that he would be caught opening the door to the left. Without really thinking, he hurriedly ran down the stairs and found a small niche in which to situate himself, pulling down his hood in an effort to hide himself. He had thought to cast a Disillusionment Charm, but Snape had already made it down the stairs and was slowly walking towards him. Draco held his breath and prayed as his Head of House continued past him down the stairs and towards his office, where he no doubt had Potter serving detention.

Draco cursed under his breath. Snape was looking for him. He couldn't very well be sneaking about the school. Snape would most likely find him or send a minion to locate him. He would have to go somewhere where the former Potions master would never think to look: the Quidditch field.

Draco sighed and slumped his shoulders forward as he made his way up the stairs and outside, begrudgingly finding his way to the stands to take a seat. He really didn't want to sit with any Slytherins as Blaise would most likely be there, and he wanted to avoid him. Instead, Draco sat at the front corner of the stadium near a few first year Hufflepuffs. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one seemed to notice. They were all paying attention to the players flying in the air.

Draco had to admit that the game was actually rather good. He hated seeing the Gryffindors play, not just because he hated Gryffindors in general, but because their games were never usually long or fast-paced, suspenseful or exciting. This was because Potter usually caught the Snitch within an hour or less, which made the game predictable and boring. With Potter not playing Seeker, the game could actually be exciting.

He watched as Ginny glided effortlessly in the air, racing past a persistent Cho Chang. He assumed that neither had caught sight of the Snitch yet, but the redhead was going to exhaust the dark-haired beauty until she did spot it, as well as confuse the Beaters on the Ravenclaw team. It was an ingenious strategy. Ginny may not have been an extraordinary Seeker or an excellent flyer, but she was a gifted tactician; she was cunning and resourceful. It was times like these that Draco wondered why she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin. But then when he actually heard her talk (preach), get angry (sanctimonious), and release her frustrations out on him (go ballistic), then he recalled why she had been (rightfully) placed in Gryffindor.

After successfully stalling the game to gain more points, Ginny finally caught the Snitch and Draco found himself on his feet, softly clapping his hands. Ginny had won. Suddenly, Draco stopped clapping: that meant Gryffindor had won. There was no reason for him to be happy about that.

Turning around, Draco began to head away from the bleachers when he caught sight of Blaise following him with his golden eyes.

"Shit!" he cursed under his breath, making his way around the stands.

The only safe location in sight was the changing rooms. Draco quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm and charged his way towards the locker rooms. He chose the first door in sight and ran inside. Once entering, he immediately discovered that he had not chanced upon the Slytherin changing room and neither was it the boys'; he had happened upon the girls'. He was about to open the door and leave when he heard voices nearby. Running towards the back of the room, Draco hid inside a stall and held his wand close to his chest.

Girls' voices could be heard, giggling loud. The loudest voice was unmistakable: it was Ginny Weasley's.

"I'll see you back at the common room, Katie. I'm just going to take a quick shower."

"Okay, Ginny. See you up there. You did great!"

"No, you guys did. I'll see you up there in a few."

He heard a door close and a locker open. There was a moment of rustling silence, and he assumed that she was getting undressed.

Draco flattened himself against the back of the wall as he heard the curtain to the shower stall he was in swish back. He watched, with mouth wide open, as the red-haired Gryffindor reached her hand inside and turned on the faucet. He tried desperately not to shriek as he felt the ice cold water pelt against his legs and lower torso. He began praying to any gods who would listen, pleading that the water would turn warm. His prayers were eventually answered, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief as the ice cold water turned warm, rushing down his body.

Ginny reached a hand inside and held it under the water, testing its temperature. When she was satisfied with the warmth of the water, she drew the curtain open and stepped inside. Draco unintentionally held his breath, watching the redhead step inside the stall with him, her lithe body void of any article of clothing.

_Right. People generally shower naked_.

Draco tried his best to be a gentleman, tried desperately not to glance down past her shoulders, but he was a boy—a hormonal boy—and she was a rather fetching-looking girl. At that moment, Draco had wished that the Weasley girl were ugly. That was until the next moment when his eyes travelled down her body to her chest, which caused him to quickly take back that wish.

The Weasley girl was facing him with her back arched and her head tilted, running her fingers through her wet hair. Her breasts were not extraordinary, but they were small and perky, barely a handful, pointing towards him in a provocative manner. Draco was almost salivating at the thought of putting his lips to perfectly pink skin, hungry for a taste.

He blushed a very unmanly shade of pink and averted his eyes downward; however, this uncharacteristic act of timidity had only resulted in him seeing much more of the Weasley girl than he had intended. He was almost sure that his jaw had literally hit the floor as his eyes came upon the cut of her waist and the subtle curve of her stomach and swell of her slender hips. His gaze travelled downward and stopped at the sight of the small flat mound that rested between the apex of her thighs.

"Redheads really are hairless," he heard himself utter the words in an almost inaudible whisper. _Almost_.

"Holy horntoads!" Ginny cried, looking around wildly, bringing her arms up to her chest. "Who's there? Katie?" She drew back the curtain to peer outside.

Ginny brought her head back in and turned around, scouring the tiny stall with critical eyes. She was still hugging her chest with her hands as she shifted on her feet, looking about nervously.

"Blaise?" she asked in a frightened tone, her bottom lip trembling. "If you don't reveal yourself, I am going to run outside and call for Madam Hooch!"

Quickly swishing open the curtain and striding outside of the stall, Ginny reached her locker and opened it. She pulled out her dress shirt to throw on, wrapping it around herself as she grabbed her wand and made for the door.

Shit, she really was going to get Madam Hooch! If the professor found him here, he'd be pinched. He had to stop her.

"Weasley, wait!" Draco cried, stumbling out the shower stall and slipping on the water.

His Disillusionment Charm had worn off as he lay sprawled out on the floor, and he glanced up pitifully to see the Weasley girl standing above him with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked quite miffed. She was also standing over him without any knickers on.

"Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing in here?" she asked, her nostrils flaring. "Why were you in my stall?"

Draco winced at the pain in his knee as he rose to his feet, trying hard not to look up her loose, wet shirt as he did.

"Calm down, Freckles," he said, raising a hand defensively. "I didn't mean to spy on you."

She looked unconvinced.

"Blaise was after me and I—this was just the closest place for me to hide," he explained, as he steadied himself on his soaking wet feet. "Weasley, I had no idea you'd come in here."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and glared at him. She did not appear to believe one word of his explanation.

"And so you thought to say nothing while you were in the shower with me?" she asked, octaves rising, her arms still folded across her chest, barely keeping her shirt together. "You were just going to stand there while I washed myself?"

She shook her head and dropped her arms to her side, which caused her shirt to hang open, causing her small, perky breasts to pop out. She let out a soft yelp and quickly closed her shirt, feebly attempting to do up the buttons.

"I didn't know that you were alone," Draco countered after a moment of ogling her breasts. "I thought if I revealed myself you would scream and alert everyone else in the room."

Ginny finished buttoning her white blouse, which was now soaked and see-through, just barely reaching the top of her thighs. She brought her arms back up to her chest and gripped onto her wand tightly, tilting her head as she appraised his wet, clothed form.

"Get undressed," she ordered softly.

Draco raised both eyebrows in shock. "What?" he asked, unable to swallow because he had no saliva left in his mouth.

"You heard me." She let her arms fall to her sides, still clutching her wand in her right hand. "Get. Un. Dressed," she ordered darkly, enunciating each syllable.

Draco visibly blanched. "You have got to be kid—"

"Tit for tat, Malfoy," she reasoned, cutting him off with a haughty expression lingering on her face. "You do it willingly, or I do it for you." She raised her wand to point at him, torso high.

"You wench!" he spat, reaching for his wand.

She quickly and effortlessly disarmed him, much to his surprise.

"You're one to talk," she said, training trained her wand on him and walking over to where his wand lay, picking it up. "Now take off them trousers, boy." A diabolical smirk rose to her lips.

Draco scowled in return, dropping his soaking wet robes to the floor as Ginny aimed her wand at him. He worked on the buttons of his shirt, slowly and methodically, until she began to flick her wand impatiently, causing him to strip at a much quicker pace. He threw his wet shirt onto the floor and then lowered his trousers until he was clad only in his forest-green boxers and the silver-embossed bracer he wore on his left forearm, to hide the Mark.

"You are getting way too much entertainment out of this, Freckles," he growled at her, stepping out of his wet clothes.

She grinned. "I think it's fair since you saw all my shiny bits. Now it's my turn to see yours." She pointed her wand at his boxers. "Take them off too."

He cursed at her vehemently and prolifically, in both English and Latin, trying to think of a conceivable way to get out of this mess, to convince her to stop torturing him. He figured the only way was through begging, and he wasn't about to beg to a Weasley. He let out a feral growl and surrendered to her will, lowering his boxers in a swift motion as he stared, hatefully, into her almond-shaped eyes.

"Is it cold in here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she unabashedly ogled his member.

"Yes," he replied through gritted teeth, however, he was unable to prevent his now tumescent member from swelling and rising at the thought of the redhead staring at him, judging him, and possibly admiring him.

A blush rose to Ginny's cheeks, and she appeared as though she was going to look away. Much to Draco's chagrin, she didn't. Instead, she daringly stared at his lower regions, her eyes wide and her mouth open. After a moment, which seemed like an eternity, she shook her head and cleared her throat, pointing her wand at his arm.

"Take the bracer off too," she ordered, much more forcefully than before.

He shook his head. "No."

She narrowed her eyes on him and took a step forward, pointing her wand at him for emphasis. "Why not?" she asked with obvious suspicion. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing," he answered, staring her down with murderous intent. "I think this has gone on long enough, Weasley."

Ginny aimed her wand down at his bracer, intent on taking it off herself, when an older, authoritative voice interrupted them.

"Hello? Girls? Is anyone in here?" Madam Hooch called, and Ginny's eyes went as wide as saucer plates.

Draco simply stood naked on top of his pile of clothes, looking ready to bolt at any moment.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed under his breath.

Ginny's eyes became slits as she pointed her wand at him once more. "Shh!"

"You shh!" he retorted.

"Hello?" Madam Hooch called out again. The door had closed behind her, and she was walking fully into the room.

Draco, instinctively, picked up his clothes and grabbed Ginny, bringing her behind a row of lockers, holding his hand over her mouth as he held her close to him, her naked behind spooned right into his exposed groin region.

Madam Hooch came over to the other side of them, calling once more. As she walked over to the other set of the lockers, Draco spun Ginny around and then back again as Madam Hooch audibly sighed and used her wand to extinguish the lights in the room and walked outside, closing the door behind her.

Draco let go of Ginny and allowed her to step ahead. She glanced back at him, blushing, and he frowned, snapping his fingers, motioning for her to return his wand to him. She reluctantly did so and then ran over to the door. Draco took this moment to drop his wet clothes onto the floor and direct a drying spell at them. He then put his wand between his teeth and bent down, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on. After that followed his trousers, socks, shoes, and shirt.

He was just putting his shirt back on when he heard the Weasley girl cuss up a storm. She ran back to where he was standing, her face red with anger and embarrassment.

"She locked the door," she explained dolefully, walking over to her locker to throw on her skirt.

Draco noted, with curiosity, that she didn't appear to be wearing any knickers, nor a bra, just a half done up dress shirt and kilt. Then the phrase she had just uttered to him seconds before finally clicked in. They were locked inside!

"What?" he asked, leaning forward, his mouth gaping open.

"Are you deaf?" she snapped rhetorically, slipping on her shoes and muttering a few drying spells of her own. "I told you: she locked the door!"

Draco shook his head. "That can't be."

Ginny slammed her locker door shut and glared at the silver-haired blond, who had his shirt undone and was staring at her like he had grown a second head. "It can and is," she retorted, pointing her wand at the door. "Go ahead, Malfoy. Try."

Draco stormed over to the door and tried to open it with his wand. Nothing. Then he tried with his hand. Still nothing. It really was locked!

He walked back over to where she sat on one of the benches. "It's locked," he stated.

"_Really_?" she asked sarcastically, leaning forward.

Draco bristled at the sardonic tone she was taking with him. "This is all _your_ fault, Weasley!" he exclaimed, ignoring the look of shock and disgust she was giving him.

"_My_ fault?" she queried indignantly, her pitch rising to a frighteningly high octave. "You're the one who sneaked in here, ya perv!"

"We could have made it out if you hadn't decided to force me to strip!" he retorted, just as incensed as she was.

"I didn't see your nether regions complaining," she remarked dryly, pointing at the obvious bulge in his pants.

"How dare you!" he cried, taking a step forward, pointing an accusing finger at her chest.

"How dare _you_!" she rejoined passionately, taking a step forward of her own until she was directly in front of him, her head tilted upwards so that her nose just barely grazed his chin.

"Wench!" he spat, glaring down into her eyes as he roughly grabbed her by the shoulders, hoping to shake some sense into the senseless witch.

"Ponce!" she rallied back, throwing her arms out and shoving him back with an incredible force.

Draco stumbled backwards, his shirt slipping off his left shoulder. His eyes were ablaze with fury. He looked ready to kill as he took a threatening step forward, breathing heavily.

"You bit—"

His vituperation was cut off by soft lips crushing against his with unrestrained passion. Smooth, delicate hands reached up to caress his cheeks, pulling his face downwards, causing him to double over and reach out with his hands to brace himself, to keep himself from falling. His hands fell on slender, sloping shoulders and slid up a neck, warm and long. His fingers found their way into still-damp red tendrils, tugging gently, eliciting a rather feminine growl from the same soft lips that assailed his. It took a moment for what was going on to register in his mind: Ginny Weasley was kissing him!

The thought of kissing the redhead should have repulsed him, and the realisation that he was doing so should have shocked the hormones right out of him. He should have stopped. He should have pushed her away. Should've, could've, would've…didn't. It was the story of his life.

Drawing back slightly, Draco felt her lips hungrily seek his, a soft whimper escaping past her lips. He reached down and held her face in his hands, smirking slightly as he lowered his gaze, focusing on her pink and swollen lips. He ran his thumb along her jaw, sliding it along her cheek until it came to rest on her bottom lip, letting it linger there as she took in a shallow gasp of air. She looked up at him with expectant eyes, half-lidded with desire, and he parted her lips with his thumb, bending down to flick his tongue along his lower lip. She closed her eyes once more and let out a soft moan as he lowered his lips to hers, artfully drawing breath from her lungs, making her melt against his solid form.

Ginny reached up and entwined her fingers in his white-blond hair, tugging at the long strands at the back, arousing a guttural cry from his lips that were pressed firmly against hers. Her hands dropped from his hair and went to his chest, attempting to push him away so that she could catch her breath. This, he would not allow. Instead, he took her hands and put them under his shirt, letting her feel his soft yet firm skin. She eagerly complied, running her nails up his chest and over his shoulders, deftly removing his shirt and letting it drop to the floor. He let out a sharp gasp as she grazed her nails back down his chest and abdomen, digging her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, pulling him closer.

Draco muttered several obscenities under his breath and gripped the collar of her shirt, pulling it open, causing the buttons to pop off and fly in every which direction. She let out a muffled cry with her lips still firmly pressed against his and pried his mouth open with her eager tongue, tasting the flavour that was Draco Malfoy.

In turn, Draco reached his hands around her waist, pulling her in close, pressing her warm, naked body against his as he manoeuvred her around and slowly began to lower her to the floor, resting her half-naked form onto his fallen robes and shirt. She tugged at his waistband, undoing the zipper as he raised himself up, allowing her to pull down his trousers as he lifted up her skirt, spreading her thighs apart with his hand.

A howling noise suddenly sounded outside, disturbing them from their actions, and Draco stared down at his hand in horror, seeing it resting upon Ginny's upper thigh. Ginny, in turn, let out a small squawk as she pushed herself out from underneath him.

"Merlin, we were about to—"

"On a locker room floor—"

"How low have I sunk?"

Both stared at each other with guilty expressions lingering on their faces and then quickly sat up and began to dresse if nothing had just happened. After a moment of silence, they finally made eye contact.

"C'mon, let's try another way out of here," Draco said, buttoning his shirt and throwing on his robes. "How about the windows?" He pointed to the impossibly small window at the back of the locker room.

Ginny pulled on her robes on and used her wand to dry her hair completely. It was unnaturally wild, giving her the tousled just-had-sex look.

"If you give me a boost, I might be able to sneak out and come around and unlock the door," she said, squinting her eyes as she focused on the window.

It was just starting to get dark out. They would have to hurry before they had no light and would be forced to use their wands, which might get them caught.

Draco bent over and laced his fingers together, taking her foot in his hands and hoisting her up to the window. She fumbled about with the latch and opened the window, wriggling her lithe body out the small frame, causing Draco to snicker aloud.

"What!" she yelled, half-way out the window.

"Do you ever wear knickers, Weasley?" he asked, feeling her body stiffen as he tried to push her through the small opening.

"I missed laundry day," she muttered, sounding horribly embarrassed.

He laughed.

"Have you got it?" he asked, wondering if she was too humiliated to move or just stuck.

"Yeah, just one sec—okay."

She finally made her way through, and he watched as her feet disappeared around the corner. He ran around to the front door and waited. After a moment, he called out her name.

"Weasley?" he whispered loudly, wondering if the redhead had ditched him. "Weasley!"

"Malfoy?" her voice called out from the other side of the door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, open the door," he ordered impatiently.

"It won't open," she responded, pulling at the door. "She must have a special lock on it."

"You have got to be kidding me!" he cried. "Open this door, Weasley!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy."

"Weasley!" he cried tetchily.

"Stand back. I'm going to open it."

He stood back. "How—"

"_Reducto_!"

Just then a great blast tore through the door, and it exploded into a hundred pieces, steel and stone flying in every which direction.

"Bloody hell, Weasley!" Draco cried, coughing as he breathed in the dusty air. "You could have killed me!" Luckily he had ducked out of the way.

"C'mon, let's go!" she ordered, motioning him to follow with her finger.

They made their way out of the changing rooms and began to run towards the school, laughing excitedly as they made their escape.

"I am in so much shit!" Ginny cried, looking back over her shoulder at Draco.

"No one will ever know it was you," he said, catching up with her effortlessly. "Why exactly did you use a _Reducto_ spell to begin with? And why did you wait until you were outside to try it?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "I hadn't thought to do that 'til I was actually out there. I thought I could unlock it from the outside, but I couldn't." She gave him a stern look. "Listen, Malfoy, destroying that door was the last possible resort."

Draco brought up his hands and shrugged indifferently. He didn't really care why she did it. He just wanted to know what took her so bloody long to resort to blowing open the door. He was actually a little unnerved that a simple _Reducto_ spell from her wand could cause a steel door to shatter. How powerful was she at magic?

Once they made their way to the outside of the Gryffindor Tower, Ginny looked up at the windows on high and frowned.

"Too bad we didn't bring our brooms," she said. "I guess we'll have to try to sneak in through the front.

"That won't be easy," Draco replied with a shake of his head, placing his hand against the wall of the tower. "Filch patrols it past curfew."

Ginny's frown quickly turned into a perplexed look as she pointed to the wall that Draco was leaning against. Draco stepped back and followed her gaze. It was another familiar seam in the aged stone.

"Hey, do you think this is the entrance to the other—"

"Corridor?" Draco asked with a grateful grin on his pale face. "Yeah, I think it is."

Draco tapped his wand on the invisible door, and, expectantly, it slowly began to open. Ginny tilted her head up to look at him, beaming brightly.

"Malfoy, you're a genius!" She clapped her hand on his back, which caused him to bristle at her peasant-like salutation. "I'm famished. Let's go eat."

Both stepped inside, wands lit.

"Don't you have a victory celebration to go to?" he asked, feeling her hand reach back and grab his.

"Bah, I can go to that later," she said absently, tugging him forward. "C'mon, Malfoy, I'm freezing out here!"

"Coming, Freckles," Draco retorted blandly, but he could not prevent the warm smile that was beginning to form on his lips.

As they stepped inside and the door closed, a solid figure began to take form from the shadows. First came the eyes, golden and gleaming, then a mouth, and then a nose. The figure slowly materialised out of the dark mist in front of the looming castle, and it was smiling.

"Soon," Morpheus whispered, a knowing smile lingering on his dark face. "Soon."

**xXx**

**Author notes:** This chapter was looked over by **Kim** (Boogum). Many heart-felt thanks for the quick fixer-upper, Kim! ^_^

**Additional Note**: the locker room shower scene was inspired by **Roma**'s (Cadaverous Apples) one-shot, **Pride and Sin** (my version, however, has Ginny naked in the shower, not Draco). I thought I'd work in a shower scene, and although it might not have been what you expected, you still have to love me for it. I know you want those two to get it on, but it would really spoil my plot devices to have that happen quite so soon (so I say almost 100,000 words into a story). Bah! *waves hand in front of face* I'll explain it to you later.


	15. The Devastating Truth

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Fifteen: The Devastating Truth_

Draco was gently woken from a deep sleep by the touch of small hands running through his tousled hair. He felt like a cat being stroked, so he stretched out—his head rubbing against something soft and yielding. Rolling over onto his back, he slowly opened his eyes, focusing on honey-coloured irises and porcelain-white skin dusted with freckles. He let the ghost of a smile cross his features, and the lovely creature above him smiled down at him, brushing long strands of white-blond hair away from his forehead.

"Did you have a pleasant nap?" Ginny asked with a cheeky grin, setting aside the book that she had been holding in her other hand.

Draco nodded and stretched out further on the redhead's lap, bringing a hand up to touch her face, barely grazing his knuckles along her jaw. He wasn't quite sure why he did this. It was such a tender gesture; perhaps he was feeling especially affectionate today. He had been growing exceptionally close to the Weasley girl since the night they had been locked in the changing rooms. She had come to his private quarters almost every night since then—never to sleep over, as that would have only caused problems on both ends. Instead, they would lie together, not even talking, just enjoying each other's company.

Draco had begun to suspect that Ginny's friends had been monitoring him, as well as her. She seemed to have realised this too, which was why she always left before it got too late. Even if he wanted her to stay, he couldn't have her in his room at night—that was the time he spent experimenting in the Room of Requirement. He had already set up the Hand of Glory and the Peruvian Darkness Powder, and, after ten nerve-racking months, he had finally managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. Using the enchanted coin, he would alert Madam Rosmerta, who would give word to his Aunt Bellatrix. It was only a matter of days now before the invasion, before his life would be completely turned upside down.

It was with these thoughts troubling his mind that Draco glanced up at Ginny, absently wondering what she would do when she found out—not if, _when_. Would she understand that he did this for his family? Would she try to stop him? Would he be forced to hurt her?

Draco shook his head and grimaced. He did not want to think of these things right now. Not now. Not ever if he could help it.

"Draco!" Ginny called, shaking him, stirring him from his reverie.

It took a moment for what she had just said to register in his head, and he turned to look at her askance. "Did you just call me 'Draco'?"

Ginny furrowed her brow and frowned. "No," she answered hesitantly. "No, I don't think I did."

Draco sat up and turned around, looking her directly in the eyes. "Yes, you did."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

They played the 'did not, did too' game, coupled with the 'uh huh, nuh uh', for a minute before Ginny finally pushed Draco completely off her lap and feigned a scowl.

"Okay, well, maybe I did," she admitted, her scowl morphing into a pout. "Do you have a problem with that, _Draco_?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and thought on it for a moment. "No, I suppose I don't," he answered with a cheeky grin. "_Ginevra_."

Ginny groaned and then picked up a pillow from the sofa, striking him in the face with it. "Oh Merlin, not 'Ginevra'!"

Draco recoiled and swatted the pillow away from his face, grabbing it and then knocking her up side the head with it.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to call you Ginny or Gin," he retorted with disgust laced in his voice, "_Freckles_."

Draco truly was not fond of the Gryffindor's shortened name, mainly because everyone else called her Ginny or Gin, and he was not 'everyone else'. Or at least he certainly hoped that he wasn't.

"I can handle 'Freckles'," she admitted softly with a goofy grin on her face, leaning in close.

"Oh, yeah?" he queried, pulling her onto his lap. "Can you handle this?"

Draco planted a soft kiss to her collarbone, causing Ginny to shiver in his grasp. She arched her back and let out a soft giggle as he bent down to trail kisses up her collar. Biting her bottom lip in both hesitation and ecstasy, she curled her face into the crook of his neck and nipped at his neck, eliciting a feral growl from the back of his throat.

"And what about this?" he asked, as his lips found the nape of her neck and began to suck gently. He felt her melt into him, moaning and sighing contently, and he grinned into her throat.

"Oh, yes," she replied in a raspy voice, purring at his touch.

"And this?" He pulled her in closer to him, making her wrap her legs around his torso, easing her onto him.

"Uh huh" was her high-pitched response, as she closed her eyes and mewled at his delectable ministrations.

"This?" he growled, biting at her jaw while his hands went to her arse, assuaging his rising excitement with the suppleness of her bottom.

"Draco!" she cried in an admonishing tone, her eyes fluttering open in shock as she braced her hands against his chest, pushing herself away.

Draco's lips twitched into a self-satisfied grin; his eyes were still half-lidded with desire. "So is that all it takes to get you to scream my name?"

Ginny's mouth dropped open, and then she quickly snapped it shut. "I did not scream it," she protested, pouting.

"Uh huh," Draco rejoined, pulling her in close once more.

Ginny struggled for a moment, feebly trying to resist and push herself off him.

"I should go now," she said none too convincingly.

"You should," he agreed, a cocky smirk plastered across his handsome face, "but you won't."

Ginny's eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head back to look up at him, pushing him away at arm's length. "I won't, will I?"

She undoubtedly took this as a challenge, and when a Gryffindor was told that she could not or would not do something then she would fight tooth and nail to prove the accusing party wrong. However, Draco had already begun to know Ginny quite well, and while he believed that she could and would rise to _any_ challenge, in this case, she would yield.

"No, you like this," Draco told her simply, "and you're not yet done with yelling out my name." His smirk widened when he saw the flicker of stubbornness flash in her eyes.

He traced his soft fingers from her temple all the way down her hairline until he met her jaw, bringing his thumb along to stroke at her smooth cheek. Bringing his other hand around to perform the same action on the other side of her face, Draco laced his long fingers around the base of her neck. He then deftly tugged at her long auburn hair, causing her to tilt her head back and close her eyes in bliss.

"Mmm, okay," she assented, her lips parted and inviting, "maybe I will stay a little bit longer."

"Of course you will," he concurred with a smirk, bending down to capture her lips with his.

**xXx**

Ginny exited Draco's room an hour later, wondering if anyone could see her blushing from beneath her hood. She grinned foolishly to herself as she ambled her way upstairs to locate a lavatory in which she could safely change out of her Slytherin robes. She had to admit that the past few weeks with Draco had been surprisingly fun. While in the beginning, their budding relationship had been built on weird hormones and sexual attraction alone, now she had begun to discover little idiosyncrasies about the handsome, lithe boy that she actually liked.

Yes, Draco Malfoy could be someone that Ginny actually liked. He was the kind of person who hid who he truly was on the inside. Admittedly, on the outside he was still a spoilt and bigoted child, but he did have a softer side. And he was also rather funny and affectionate once you got to know him—that is, once he let you in. The Draco that he was allowing Ginny to see was passionate, witty, and intelligent—and she liked what she saw.

Lamentably, there was no denying it any more: Ginny had feelings for Draco. What to do about these feelings, though, was the ultimate question. Her family would go ballistic if they knew she was even within spitting distance of him let alone sneaking into his room almost every night to snog. They would, of course, question his intentions, his motives. Draco, in turn, had never tried to make Ginny do something that she didn't want to; he had never forced himself on her. In fact, he was the one who often stopped them from going any further than they did.

Was he using her for some nefarious purpose? Was he assigned a task by his Death Eater father to infiltrate the Order by snogging the Weasley girl? Unlikely.

It was the dreams that brought them together, but there was something more—something she couldn't quite put her finger on. All Ginny knew was that she had feelings for the tall, grey-eyed blond, and she was closer to Draco than she had been with any other man, including Tom Riddle.

Maybe Ginny just liked cold, arrogant men. Joking aside, these were not the reasons why Ginny found herself drawn to Draco. Whether the dreams had anything to do with it or not, she did feel that Draco was someone worth saving; there was something in his heart, something in his soul that called out to her and made her connect with him. Corny as it may have sounded, sometimes Ginny felt that being with Draco was a lot like coming home, only to a home that she had never known. It was new; it was exciting; it was scary.

Dwelling on these thoughts no longer, Ginny quitted the toilets and spotted a familiar face with golden eyes and umber-tanned skin. She considered walking away in the opposite direction—that is until she saw the tall Slytherin step aside and back away, revealing a familiar-looking girl with long, wavy blonde hair: Luna Lovegood.

The Ravenclaw and Slytherin exchanged cordial salutations and then quickly parted ways, leaving a rather nonplussed Ginny in the background. The redhead warily eyed the god from a distance, watching him take the stairs down the Entrance Hall and disappear. Ginny then tentatively made a beeline towards Luna.

"Hey, Luna!" Ginny called out, running up behind the blonde.

Luna stopped and turned around, offering the redhead a wistful smile as she held several books close to her chest.

"Hello, Ginny," she greeted, her cornflower blue eyes shining.

Ginny swallowed hard, trying to figure out the best way to broach the topic of Blaise with Luna. The last time she had tried, Neville and Luna had given her a stern talking-to, effectively putting the redhead in her place.

"I was wondering if I could show you something," Ginny offered, fidgeting with the sleeves of her robes.

Luna tilted her head, glancing up at Ginny with wide, blinking eyes. "Why wonder? Just ask," she rejoined. "What did you want to show me?"

Ginny let out a short laugh. "I, uh, it's a bit too complicated for me to explain right here." She looked about the hall to see if Blaise was lurking nearby. "Could you come to my room with me?"

Luna paused, regarding Ginny for a moment before she shook her head. "I can't. I'm supposed to meet with Hermione at the library right now." She held up her books, as if to show Ginny proof that she had a scheduled meeting with the brainy brunette in the library. "Is it imperative that I join you now?" she asked, looking rather serious in that moment.

Ginny shook her head and waved her hands in front of her face. "No, no, it's okay, Luna. This can wait..." She paused. "Could you come by _after_ your meeting with Hermione?"

"Of course," the blonde replied with a smile, nodding her head.

"Thanks, Luna." Ginny grinned at her friend, slipping the strap of her satchel over her shoulder.

"No problem, Ginny." Luna promptly turned around and headed in the opposite direction, towards the library. "See you in a few hours," she called from over her shoulder.

"Bye," Ginny returned, waving at and watching the blonde disappear around the corner.

Ginny then made her way towards the Gryffindor Tower and up the set of stairs that led to her room. After slipping inside and throwing her satchel onto her bed, the redhead went over to her dresser and began rummaging around for the crystal phials that Draco had given her weeks ago. She had planned on showing Luna the memories, to let the blonde see for herself who Blaise truly was.

Ginny ran her fingertips over the blue, rose, and clear phials; her hand lingering on the blue one. After a deliberate pause, her fingers trailed over to the rose-coloured ampoule and picked it up. She used her wand to conjure her borrowed Pensieve from Draco. Uncorking the rose-coloured bottle, she tipped it upside down, allowing the memory to drip down into the bowl.

Ginny watched as the memory swirled around in the silver-coloured water, and she dipped her face into the stone basin. As she hurtled to the ground, feeling that familiar tug and pull of the memory, she had to blink back the overwhelming confusion that battered her senses; this was a memory that she had never witnessed before.

Ginny then saw herself, through Draco's eyes, watching herself playfully swat at Blaise's arm whilst he handed her a drink from the refreshment table.

_Slug's Christmas party?_

Ginny watched as Draco reached into his robes and pulled out a wrapped present in the shape of a bottle and place it on the table with all the other presents. She felt her heart leap into her chest as someone—Filch—grabbed him by the ear and began to pull him away from the festivities, dragging him across the room towards Professor Slughorn.

Ginny furrowed her brow, feeling herself being pulled back with him, and recalled Harry telling her something about this event before they had left Hogwarts for Christmas holidays. He said that Draco had been caught gate-crashing Slughorn's party.

This must have been that memory.

But why did Draco preserve the memory? What did it have to do with Blaise? And why did he leave a present there? Who was it for?

Suddenly Snape appeared, taking him aside, and Ginny felt something twist in the pit of her stomach.

_Hadn't Harry said that he overheard Draco talking to Snape about some Unbreakable Vow and some plan?_

"I had hoped that you would not have been rash enough to repeat the same error, Draco. Using that necklace was foolish. You cannot expect to get away with something like that again. You cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled—"

"I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?"

Ginny's stomach lurched forward and then plummeted downward. What were Draco and Snape talking about? It sounded like Draco was planning to do something, like he had _already_ done something...wrong.

"I hope that you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish of you to do. Already, you are suspected of having a hand in it."

Ginny saw the serious glint in Snape's eye, and she found herself trying to will her mind out of Draco's memory.

"Who suspects me?" she heard Draco ask angrily. "For the last time, I didn't do it, okay? That Bell girl must've had an enemy that no one knows about—don't look at me like that!"

Ginny braced herself—against what, she did not know. All she knew was that she felt like she was going to vomit.

_Draco tried to curse Katie Bell? No, no. This was Draco. Sure, he wasn't the nicest person at school, and he hated Gryffindors, but he would never try to kill someone. He wasn't like his father. He wasn't!_

"—I swore to your mother that I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco—"

"Looks like you'll have to break it then, because I don't need your protection! It's my job. He gave it to me, and I'm doing it—"

Ginny pulled her head out of the basin and gasped.

Draco was planning on harming someone at Hogwarts, and she had to stop him.

**xXx**

Ginny made her way down to Slughorn's office. She knew he'd be there: his quarters were located directly behind his office. Knocking on his door three times, Ginny waited for a few seconds before the Potions master answered the door, beaming brightly at the redhead once he had recognised her.

"Miss Weasley, what a pleasure," Slughorn commented with a smile. "Can I assist you with something?"

"Actually, yes, Professor," Ginny answered, returning the smile, however feign, and nodded at the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course, of course," Slughorn assented, opening the door wide and stepping to the side to allow her passage. "How rude of me. Please come in, my dear. Would you like a cuppa? I just poured myself one."

Ginny stepped past the threshold and took a seat opposite his desk, shaking her head. "No thank you, sir," she politely declined. "I just came here to discuss my Potions essay with you—the DNA project."

"Ah, yes," Slughorn said, walking around his desk to take a seat. "I read yours and Miss Lovegood's notes a few months ago. I must admit that I was rather impressed." He nodded curtly, smiling as he leaned forward. "Tell me, when do you plan to write your essay? I was hoping you would have it finished by the end of the term, which is fast approaching as you know."

Ginny nodded dutifully. "Yes, I was planning on handing it in," she began, pausing briefly, "but I have reached a bit of an impasse."

"Oh?"

"I need to do a few more tests to make sure that my calculations are one-hundred percent correct," she explained with a smile, which Professor Slughorn easily returned.

"My, such a dedicated student," he said, pleased. "Of course, you will need to use the Potions room—"

"And access to your stock," Ginny added fleetingly.

Casting her a sidelong glance, Slughorn settled back in his seat. "You want permission to utilise my stock?"

"Yes, sir."

"And," he began, leaning forward with interest, "what exactly would you be needing from the potions stock?"

Ginny shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "A few things," she said, gesturing dismissively with her hands, "nothing illegal, of course." She bit her lip nervously. "I would record everything I used."

"Of course, of course," Slughorn agreed, nodding. "I do not doubt your integrity, my dear; however, I would be derelict in my duties as a professor if I allowed you to use whatever you liked and not be there to observe you, to make sure that nothing goes awry."

Ginny fidgeted under his gaze and then hastened her resolve, offering the professor her most winning, most reassuring smile. "I understand, Professor. As you will note, the last time we used your storage, everything was accounted for and replaced."

"Yes, this is true..."

"Please, Professor?" she implored, piling on what she hoped sounded like charm. "I would really like to finish this before the end of the term so that I can submit the results to _Young Wizards and Witches_."

This notion seemed to intrigue Professor Slughorn, and he pursed his lips together in deep thought. "Yes…" He paused, an idea suddenly striking him. "I'll tell you what, Miss Weasley: you may have access to my stock if you allow me to write a forwarding letter, a sort of introduction to your essay to be submitted to _Young Wizards_."

Ginny couldn't help but grin at her own genius for exploiting the professor's vanity. "I would really appreciate that, sir."

"Excellent," Slughorn said, standing to his feet. "You may go use the facilities now, if you like. I shall inform Mister Filch of your access privileges."

Slughorn offered his hand to Ginny, who readily took it, sealing the deal.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, dropping his hand and walking towards the door. "You won't regret it."

**xXx**

Draco was about to go get Crabbe and Goyle so that he could head up to the Room of Requirement, when he heard his door open. Drawing his wand, he swiftly lowered it when he saw a petite girl waltz in brazenly, red curls sticking out from underneath her hood.

"Ginevra?" Draco asked, pocketing his wand, unable to prevent the smile from forming on his lips.

As much as he hated that she came unannounced, preventing him from going to perform his necessary task, Draco could not help but be glad to see her. He couldn't really explain why—just that he was happy to have her near. She seemed to be having that odd effect on him as of late.

"Hullo, Draco," she said his name somewhat coldly, causing him to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

She then lowered her hood and offered him a pleasant enough smile, somewhat placating his worry. Her smile was convincing enough, but as a man schooled in masking his feelings and showing only calculated emotion, Draco knew that this was an act, and a very good one at that. Something was obviously wrong with her, and he wanted to know what.

"Sorry to come unannounced," Ginny said casually, pulling her hair out from underneath her collar and fanning it over her shoulders, "but I need to talk to you."

"Oh?" he asked, taking a seat on the sofa and drawing out his wand to place on the table.

She made her way to the chair across from him and sat down, fumbling her hands into her pockets. She seemed worried, agitated.

"I, uh..."

Draco waited, meeting her averted gaze with hard, stone eyes. Was she about to tell him that she was with Potter now? It figured with his luck as of late.

"I have been lying to you about my dreams."

Draco sat up, blinking. "What?"

So he was the only one having these dreams, then? Why, exactly, had she allowed him to confess? Was she playing him for a fool? If so, bravo. Well-played.

"I haven't been completely honest about them," she clarified, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, still refusing to meet his gaze.

Draco slumped back against the sofa and, despite himself, let out a small sigh of relief. Quickly recovering, he schooled his expression, giving way to his normal cool veneer.

"Is that so?"

Ginny nodded and then shrugged her shoulders, glancing down at her lap. "Yes, you see I've been having ones about you," she explained softly, glancing up at him, "ones that we haven't shared."

Draco's right eye suddenly twitched at this, and he frowned.

"In them, I..." She paused, hesitant and unsure. "I do terrible things to you, Draco."

Hearing the tremor in her voice and seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, Draco didn't know what to say or to do. Awkward moments passed by and, after a pregnant silence and an agonising pause, Draco decided to speak up first.

"Like?"

"I..." Ginny paused, clearing her throat. "Can I have a spot of tea first?" she asked him, her hands trembling slightly.

"Of course," he replied slowly, eyes narrowed in distrust.

He picked up his wand from the table and muttered a simple incantation, conjuring a tea set and tray with instant boiled water. He set everything on the table in front of her and offered her Earl Grey. She curtly accepted, thanking him as he applied the necessary magic, allowing the loose leaf to steep. Watching her intently through his lashes, Draco scooped the desired amount of sugar from the bowl, depositing it into both cups. When he reached for the pitcher of milk, he found his hand colliding with Ginny's, knocking the pitcher off the table with a loud clatter. Apologising profusely, Ginny reached down to pick it up, grabbing a napkin off the table and wiping the mess off the floor.

"I could have used magic to clean that up," Draco said blandly, slightly exasperated as he watched her clean.

Ginny sat up and placed the pitcher back on the table, slipping the soiled napkin into her robes pocket.

"This was just as fast," she reasoned breathlessly, settling back in her seat as she pushed the pitcher of milk towards him. "And I managed to save most of the milk."

Draco creased his brow and pursed his lips together, looking thoroughly disgusted. "You didn't just sop up the milk into the napkin and squeeze it back into the pitcher, did you?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow in confusion and then shook her head, letting out a nervous laugh. "No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I meant that I had managed to tilt it upright before all the milk spilt out onto the floor."

Somewhat sceptical, Draco looked to Ginny and then to the pitcher of milk, eyeing it distastefully. In response, Ginny rolled her eyes at him and grabbed both cups, pouring the milk in with the sugar. She then pushed his cup and saucer back towards him, and Draco took the handle of the tea pot and began to pour.

"Thank you," Ginny said, as she took the proffered tea.

Draco inclined his head in welcome and took his own tea in hand. Settling back in his seat, he brought the cup to his lips and sipped, watching the redhead intently.

"So, tell me," he said, licking his lips and setting the cup back down on the saucer, "what horrible things have you done to me, Ginevra—besides making me tolerate you?"

He offered her a smirk, but she just stared blankly at him.

"Besides keeping secrets from you?" Ginny answered ominously, looking over the rim of her cup, having yet to take a sip.

"Yes, well," Draco began, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I don't think keeping secrets is all that terrible." He took another distracted sip of his tea. "We are all entitled to them—our secrets."

"Even if my not telling you could harm you or those you love?"

"Well, I—"

Draco's words were cut short as he felt a sudden wave of something like euphoria, yet not, wash over him. He licked at his lips and stared intently at Ginny.

"Ginevra, what—" His eyes widened, and his cup momentarily trembled in the saucer. "I feel—"

"I slipped Veritaserum in your tea," she said quietly, staring down at her own untouched cup of tea with a frown, placing it down on the table.

Opening his mouth, Draco tried to speak but found he couldn't. He breathed slowly, in and out, and then he lifted his head, meeting her cold eyes.

"Why?"

Ginny worried her bottom lip with her teeth and looked down, shaking her head. "Because I need you to tell me the truth," she answered, raising her chin defiantly. "Plus, you're far too good at Occlumency, and I'm shite at Legilimency—"

Her voice hitched in her throat, and she looked away—disgusted with herself or with him. "I knew that you wouldn't tell me if I asked you outright."

Draco felt the anger and the betrayal bubble up inside his chest and boil over. He knew that he shouldn't feel betrayed, but he did. She had poisoned him!

He wanted to lash out, to scream at her, to grab her by the neck and toss her out of his room. But he couldn't move; he couldn't react. He could only sit there and wait—wait for her to ask her stupid questions.

He watched as she reached across the table and picked up his wand. His jaw tightened, and he cursed himself vehemently, internally.

It was all over.

"Did you poison the oak mead?"

Her eyes were shining, and she was looking at him with such hurt that Draco felt his anger halt for just a moment and then ebb away.

"I—"

"I saw the memory, Draco!" Ginny interrupted, tears brimming. "The one of you switching out the presents at Slughorn's Christmas party." She let out a hollow laugh, mocking and full of spite. "I recall you shoving a bezoar down my throat that night and asking me if I had drunk any oak mead."

Draco lowered his head, feeling the Veritaserum work through him. He opened his mouth, about to answer, when Ginny stood up and reached across the table, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him to his feet.

"So, I'll ask you again," she said through gritted teeth, her voice wavering with ice cold emotion as her fingers dug deeply into his neck, "did you poison the oak mead?"

Startled, there was an audible click as Draco swallowed, and he reluctantly nodded his head. "Yes."

He then closed his eyes, bracing for the impact—for her fist. But it never came. Instead, he felt her hold on him slacken and disappear altogether.

"How could you?" she whispered, taking a step back until the back of her knees connected with the sofa and she fell backwards. "You poisoned my brother..."

Draco just stood there, swaying on his feet, fighting for balance. He watched as Ginny shakily brought her hands to her face, covering her eyes.

"How could you?" she repeated, her question muffled by her hands. "You poisoned my brother!"

Clarity suddenly struck her like a tonne of bricks, and she rose back to her feet. Her eyes were wet and bloodshot and filled with venom.

"YOU ALMOST KILLED HIM!"

"I never intended to!" Draco countered truthfully, defensively.

"No," Ginny snarled, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks, "you intended to kill Dumbledore – didn't you?"

She paced in front of him, shaking her head and muttering darkly to herself before she spun around and pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"I'm not stupid, _Malfoy_," Ginny spat, wiping her nose as she turned towards the door. "Harry was right about you. How could I ever believe that you had changed?" She shut her eyes tight and slammed her fist into her thigh, cursing. "Maybe I _am_ the stupid one."

It was then, watching her curse, that Draco felt something inside snap, felt something inside bleed.

"You're right, Weasley," he said, taking a step past the table towards her. "You _are_ stupid!"

Ginny opened her eyes, her mouth hanging agape.

"I haven't changed," Draco agreed, closing the distance between them in seconds. "You just hoped that I would transform into someone more to your liking—someone more like Potter!"

Draco felt her hand before he heard the slap, and he recoiled in shock. He brought a hand up to touch his cheek, feeling the sting of her palm imprinted there, burning, numb, and red. And Draco didn't know whether to feel enraged or upset or both.

"You stupid fool!" Ginny spat, hiccupping the words as she lowered her hand. "I stopped wanting Harry a long time ago." Her bottom lip trembled, and she turned her head for a moment, blinking back tears before she directed wet eyes back at him. "I wanted YOU!"

"Me?" he asked, confused, lowering his hand. He no longer felt the sting of her slap.

"But you had to go poison my brother and try to kill Dumbledore," Ginny said with a hysterical sort of laugh, wiping the back of her hand across her nose, sniffling loudly.

She didn't seem to want to answer his question; she just wanted an opportunity to rant. And, oddly enough, Draco found himself not wanting to stop her. She deserved to let loose, and he deserved to be punished.

"What else did you do?" Ginny asked suddenly, spinning around. "Was the cursed necklace to Katie your doing, too?"

"Yes," he answered softly, swallowing hard. He could take his lumps. He could take this. He could take her anger and her hatred.

Ginny's shoulders sagged forward and her face scrunched up, and Draco wondered how it was even possible for her to look more upset.

"Why, Draco?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "_Why_?"

"He is going to kill my mother and me if I don't do this—if I don't do what he asks."

Ginny blinked, nonplussed. She had given him Veritaserum, so she knew that he was telling the truth, but she couldn't seem to wrap her head around the concept that Voldemort would kill his most devoted follower.

"Your family? But your family are followers," she reasoned. "Your father—"

"My father failed to retrieve the prophecy," he interrupted briskly, coldly, "thanks to Potter and yourself."

Ginny took a step back, a look of disbelief washing over her face. She shook her head and let out some foreign sound at the back of her throat—something between the sound of laughter and growling.

"You think that I am going to _apologise_ for that?" she asked incredulously. "Are you trying to say that _I_ am to blame for all of this?"

"No," he reasoned simply, truthfully, as though he were talking to an idiot. "I'm telling you that every action has a consequence, and what's right and what's wrong isn't so black and white as you want to believe it to be."

"As I _want_ to believe it to be?" she repeated, unconvinced.

Draco shook his head, looking deadly serious. There was nothing for him to hide any more, not that he could if he wanted to. It was all out on the table now. No turning back.

"No," he repeated, his voice low and hollow, "sometimes there are shades of grey."

Ginny snorted at this, literally snorted. "So is that where you reside now?" she asked mockingly. "Morally ambiguous, sitting somewhere between the lines of white and black, between the muddled shades of grey?"

Her tone, her words grated against his nerves, and he wanted to throw her out of his room. He could take abuse for his actions, but not for his reasoning behind them. Sometimes there really was no choice except the wrong one. And he wanted to remain silent, to stop answering her stupid questions, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop the words from escaping past his lips. He just couldn't.

"I was wrong!" Draco shouted, spittle flying past her cheek. "What I am doing is _wrong_!" He gave her such a look of pain and anger that she relented, if just for a moment. "And I don't want to kill Dumbledore—I-I don't want to kill anyone!"

"Then don't!" Ginny reasoned back, eyes ablaze.

"I have to!" Draco said helplessly, throwing his hands up in the air. "It's not just my life at stake here: it's my mother's, my father's, and Snape's—"

"Snape?" Ginny asked, curling her hands into fists at her sides. "The Unbreakable Vow?" She shook her head in disbelief when she saw him lower his eyes. "You mean that if you can't bring yourself to kill Dumbledore, Snape will?"

Draco glanced up. "Yes."

There was silence, uncomfortable, awful silence, and then her eyes focused, resolved. She raised her hood and turned around, heading for the door.

"I have to stop this."

"Please, Ginevra—"

"No!" she said, turning at the door and bringing up her hand to silence him. "There is no more pleading with me. There is no more anything with me—there is _nothing_ between you and I."

He opened his mouth to speak, but her face contorted, scrunching up into something he wished never to see on her: a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"I hate you," she whispered, her voice trembling with the truth. "I hate everything about you."

Draco just stood there, his arm lowering to his side.

"But you were the one who was supposed to save me," he whispered, inwardly cursing the serum that raced throughout his veins. "Our dreams—"

"Were just that, Malfoy!" Ginny spat. "Dreams."

She put her hand on the knob and swung the door open, taking one last look at him before she disappeared out of his life.

"You are _not_ worth saving, Draco Malfoy," she announced with an eerie strength to her voice, a sound that he was sure would forever haunt him. "You are dead to me."

Then the door was slammed shut, and Draco was left alone.

**xXx**

Ginny was on her way to Dumbledore's office, her robes billowing behind her—giving Snape a run for his money. She was on a mission, and no one was going to stop her. She had to warn Dumbledore; she had to warn him about Draco, about Blaise—or Morpheus, or whoever the hell he was. It was up to her to protect the school.

With a cool head, she passed several Slytherin students as she made her way across the dungeons towards the Entrance Hall. If one of them bothered to make conversation with her, to ask what she was doing down there (even though she was still disguised by the Slytherin robes and hood), Ginny would have hexed them into oblivion. She was in a foul mood and in a rush: a deadly combination.

Just as she made her way to the stairs to the Entrance Hall, Ginny heard a muffled whisper and the sound of shoes scraping across the stone floor. In less than two breaths, she had turned around and drew her wand, perching on the balls of her feet, ready to dash or to stay and fight.

A dark figure stepped out of the shadows, gold eyes flashing, a smirk lingering on his face.

"You!" Ginny snarled, pointing her wand at Blaise. "You knew all about this, didn't you?" She covered the distance between them in seconds, digging her wand into his broad chest. "You could have prevented this!"

Her voice was pitched high, her eyes wild, darting to look anywhere but into his deceptive golden eyes. She wanted nothing more than to make this creature—this god—feel her pain.

"Why did you have me—with him?" she choked, struggling to complete a sentence that no longer made any sense to her. Or maybe it did. Maybe it made all the more sense to her now. "I-I..."

"Yes, I knew," Blaise said quietly, yet with a hauntingly strong tenor, "but there was nothing I could do about it." He stepped into her wand, allowing the tip to dig painfully into his flesh. "It was meant to be."

Ginny's wand trembled in her hand, and she dropped her hand. "Lies!" she screamed at him, spittle flying from her mouth in rage. "And what about me having feelings for him—was _that_ meant to be too?"

Her eyes shone with anger and pain and betrayal. And yet beneath it all was something else, something entirely different...Hope?

"Ginevra," Blaise began softly, shaking his head condescendingly, "you know the answer to that."

Ginny threw her hands up in frustration and let out a strangled cry of fury.

"I hate you!" she screamed, tears brimming. "I hate the both of you!"

She took in a deep breath, hiccupping back a sob, taking a calculated step back. Letting out a wavering and exhausted sigh, Ginny dropped her arms completely to her sides. Her wand rested limply between her fingers, and she hung her head in defeat, her red hair curtaining her face.

"You can't just play with someone's heart like that," she whispered feebly, "with someone's life." She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes on his, the fire inside them still burning. "It's wrong."

Blaise levelly met her gaze and sighed, drawing back his robes so that he could slide his hands into his trouser pockets.

"You must understand, Ginevra," he explained softly, "that events have been set in motion that cannot be undone. You cannot stop this..." He paused, licking his lip, and carefully withdrew his hands from his pockets. "But after..._after_ you can make a difference."

Ginny screwed her lips into a sneer and cursed, shaking her head.

"Bugger that!"

She gripped her wand tightly and took another step back.

"I'm making a difference _now_!" she told Blaise, spinning on her heel and turning around to make her way up the stairs. "I am going to make sure that Draco Malfoy gets expelled from this school, tonight!"

"I'm sorry, Ginevra," Blaise called out to her retreating back, palming a small, clear marble, "but not tonight."

A spark of light emitted from the marble before it flew out of Blaise's hand, zooming towards Ginny. A snap and a brighter flash of light, and Ginny instantly stopped where she was on the stairs, incapacitated. Blaise was on her in a heartbeat, catching the redhead before she fell backwards onto the stairs. Shifting her comfortably into his arms, he stood up and turned around, coming face to face with dark obsidian eyes.

Snape.

"What have you done?" The words were slow, methodical, drawn out like an unravelling spool of thread.

"What had to be done," Blaise answered insouciantly, meeting Snape's gaze unwaveringly.

The two stared each other down for a moment before Snape clenched his jaw until it cracked. He slowly raised both arms, folding them across his chest as he waited patiently for an explanation.

Blaise shuffled the girl in his arms, shifting her so that he could cradle her head against his shoulder for support.

"Help me take her to your room."

Snape stared at Blaise levelly, searching his eyes, finding nothing, seeing nothing. He then glanced down at the redhead in his arms and lowered his arms from his chest, turning around.

"Come," he ordered, leading Blaise towards his office. "Once we get inside, you are going to tell me what is going on."

Slipping into Snape's office unnoticed, Blaise and Snape made their way towards the back of the room, opening the door to the professor's living quarters. Once inside and placing an unconscious Ginny on the sofa, the two returned to Snape's office.

"We have to talk," Snape said, taking the seat behind his desk while motioning for Blaise to take the chair across from him.

"About what?" Blaise said coolly, adjusting his robes as he took a seat on the hard, wooden chair.

He shifted his weight, making himself comfortable, as he reached into the sleeves of his robes, pulling out the cuffs. While Snape stared at him, frowning, expectant of an answer, Blaise absently played with the silver cufflinks. After adjusting them to his liking, he tucked them back inside his sleeves and tugged the sleeves towards his wrists.

"About how you have incapacitated a fellow student," Snape answered tersely, drawing emphasis on the last T, "and how you have made me an accomplice."

He raised an eyebrow at Blaise, his jaw clenching once more with eerily controlled rage. But Blaise remained calm, unmoved, unaffected by Snape's glare, by Snape's unspoken threats.

"You know full-well," Blaise began patronisingly, tilting his head, "that I am no mere student."

Snape narrowed his eyes and took a breath through his nose, letting out a long, arduous breath.

"No, you are not," he agreed, his lower lip twitching in anger. But with Blaise, he would not reprimand, would not scold. There was something about this boy—this man—and Snape would watch his tongue and his thoughts around him, just like he did with the Dark Lord.

Blaise leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on the desk and nodded towards the door to Snape's living quarters.

"And you should know that that is no mere Weasley in there."

Snape followed his gaze and then slowly turned back, focusing his black eyes on Blaise. "What is going on?"

Blaise lowered his eyes and sat back up in his seat. "The inevitable."

Their eyes met again, and this time Snape knew what to ask without having to read Blaise's mind.

"And what about Draco?"

"Draco," Blaise said, his golden eyes alight, "Draco is someone who must be protected at all costs."

**xXx**

**Author notes:** Dun, dun, dun!

Many thanks to **Boogum** (Kim) for beta-ing this chapter for me. ^_^


	16. Days of Judgement

**Prelude to an Affair**

Book One

_Chapter Sixteen: Days of Judgement_

He often took long walks late at night. Many thought he was restless, trying to cure his insomnia. What most didn't know, however, was that he never slept. He spent most of his night hours alone, secluded in little niches found throughout the school or in the Restricted Section of the library or outside on the castle grounds. There, he would roam the expanse of the Forbidden Forest, the shores of the lake, or even venture the hollow that led to the dilapidated Shrieking Shack―_anywhere_ but in his own room.

His life, if one were to glean any insight from his tangled thoughts, was what one might consider chaotic. What would he deem it? Prosaic, perhaps. Hogwarts, this house of bedlam, held no allure for him. It never did. And so he grew weary and restless, feeling stretched out and thinned like too much butter spread over bread. He found himself counting time―recording the hours, the minutes, the seconds. It ticked away so quickly for him now that it became difficult to register any moment as significant.

One thing remained certain though: he had a job to perform. He didn't want to do it, but it had to be done. There were so many tedious yet mind-boggling tasks for him to complete, which, if combined and paralleled, interfered with the fate of many. He was an instrument in the balance of good versus evil—a typical fable in atypical times. Everything rested on his capable shoulders; lives were held in his all-knowing hands.

He had a choice, of course—there was always a choice. He could choose to abandon his task, for he was, above all else, possessed with free will. Duty, title, and honour, however, dictated otherwise; they bound him, tethered him so tightly to his role that he had no real option, no real path to follow except the one that was already laid out before him.

How many lives would be altered by his actions? How many would be offered as sacrificial lambs? How many would be redeemed? And in the end―in _this_ end―would any of it make a real difference?

Yes, it would. For better or for worse, though, was hard to say.

Standing perfectly still, he listened to nature—to the wind play its own natural melody with the leaves that danced and the branches that swayed in the breeze. It was times like these that he appreciated the simple things in life; it was times like these that he almost felt _human_.

Blaise Zabini rested a large, flat palm on the old oak tree, tracing his fingers along the familiar patterns engraved in the wood. No, he did not look forward to the days ahead―to the months and years of turmoil. Morpheus, the god of dreams, however, did have a job to do, and, like it or not, only _he_ could do it.

**xXx**

She was in the forest, of that much was certain. The tops of the trees rustled with the wind, and the sun beat down on her brow. A rainbow of colours reflected off the crystal clear waters, which licked at her calves that stood naked in the stream. She brought a pale hand up to shield her eyes, feeling her red hair grow warm in the sunlight.

Her mind turned, naturally enough, to her first time in this forest, standing in this very stream. She couldn't recall very much of those hours—what she remembered most was being afraid and disoriented—but a figure stood out like a rock in a billowing mist. He was tall and fit, leaning lithely against a tree, watching her walk in the water. Most of his face was obscured through the fog, but she could see his eyes, dark and grey, boring into hers with an intensity that both frightened and comforted her.

"This is all my fault," she said, reaching for his face, but he seemed to shift away from her like filigree curls of smoke. "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. Please, come back to me. _Please_—"

Suddenly, the figure faded and then vanished completely, the scene changing to something more dark and sinister. She was in the dungeons, passing through intricate granite arches and ducking low ceilings as her long red hair caught in the cracks. Claustrophobia set in, and she put her hand to the dank walls dripping with nitre, feeling the hum of old magic course through her veins. The soft glow of the flames from the hanging torches grew brighter, lighting the corridor that led to a familiar passage, and she was seized with yet another memory.

These recollections possessed her mind completely, as only worst recollections can—memories of times where she felt lost and helpless, unable to exert any control over her own life—and she walked towards her room—_his_ room. She was still thinking about the man from the stream, thinking about how much he frightened her and how much he had reminded her of Draco. It wasn't anything in his face; mostly it had been a matter of posture. The way he had stood there, as if every muscle was ready to flex and leap, and it would only take a single glance of acknowledgement from her to set him off—

"Ginny!"

A hand seized her upper arm, and Ginny nearly shrieked. Taking in a great gulp of air, she opened her eyes—brown eyes meeting blue.

"Luna?" Ginny croaked, sitting up in what felt like a bed, bringing a hand to her throbbing head. "What happened? Where am I?" Feeling the momentary dislocation and deep relief of someone who wakes from a really bad dream, Ginny sat back down, letting out a shaky sigh.

"You're in the infirmary," Luna answered, removing her hand from Ginny's arm. "You were found passed out in the hall—taken ill with some kind of fever. You were delirious, talking about some sort of spell…" She paused, blue eyes shining inquisitively. "Madam Pomfrey gave you a draught to make you sleep. She said you'd be fine once you woke up. Speaking of which, she is currently taking a nap. I should go wake—"

"How long have I been asleep?" Ginny interrupted, sitting up in the bed as though it were spring-loaded.

"I don't know, really," Luna answered with a slight frown. "Professor Snape brought you in here yesterday, and you had been missing the entire day before that."

"_Snape _brought me here?"

Luna nodded. "Professor McGonagall sent for me to come here to watch over you. Ronald wanted to stay, but—"

"I have to get to Dumbledore and Harry," Ginny said suddenly, folding back the sheets and shuffling her legs off the mattress.

"They're both gone," Luna announced, stepping out of her chair to help Ginny to her feet.

"What? Where?" Ginny wobbled forward for a moment and braced herself against Luna's offered arm, regaining her balance.

"I don't know."

Ginny sat back down on the bed and closed her eyes, bringing her hands back up to her head to massage her temples. Why did she have such a bloody throbbing headache?

"Where's Ron and Hermione?" she asked the blonde, lowering her hands and opening her tired eyes.

"They're watching Draco Malfoy with the Marauders' Map," Luna answered, unblinking. "Neville's with them too."

Ginny's mouth hung ajar in shock. "So they know?"

"Know what?"

"That Dra—that Malfoy is a Death Eater, who poisoned Ron and cursed Katie Bell," Ginny said, putting both hands on the bed to push herself up so that she could search for her clothes.

Luna watched her with keen blue eyes. "I don't know about any of that," she said, fingering her radish earrings, "but Harry told all of us to watch him because he thinks that Malfoy is going to try to kill Dumbledore, or do something even worse."

Ginny had found her jeans and was pulling them on when her hands rested on the button fly. "Even worse than trying to kill Dumbledore?"

Luna nodded, handing Ginny her shirt, and then made her way towards the exit. "Now that you're awake, I'm supposed to meet up with Hermione to help her watch Snape's office."

"Wait up," Ginny called out, tossing off the hospital gown and slipping on her top. "I'll come with you."

Slipping out of the infirmary, Ginny and Luna managed to make their way downstairs towards the dungeons. Once down in the dank corridors, Ginny was greeted with a familiar face, with notorious golden eyes: Blaise Zabini. She closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, her chest rising and falling in anger.

"_You_!" Ginny roared, pointing an accusing finger at the tall, dark Slytherin. "You knocked me unconscious, you—"

"There really is no time for this," Blaise said in a low voice, glancing at Luna for a moment before focussing his bright eyes on Ginny. "You must come with me."

He reached out to grab her hand, but she immediately drew it back in anger and in fear.

"I will not, _Morpheus_!" she hissed, eyeing him warily.

"Ginny?"

At the sound of an all too familiar voice, Ginny spun around, coming face to face with Hermione Granger.

"I could hear you yelling from around the corner," the brunette admonished with a finger to her lips. Then, as though registering that it was Ginny and she was awake, Hermione's stern face morphed into a look of relief and joy. "I'm so glad you're awake and okay!" She leaned in, engulfing the redhead in an exuberant embrace.

Ginny smiled, despite the direness of the situation that they were currently in. Hermione, who had her eyes closed as she hugged the redhead close, opened them, seeing Blaise Zabini still there, staring down at her. Startled, the older Gryffindor girl straightened up and drew back, releasing Ginny with a frown.

"Ginny, what's going on here?" Hermione asked, looking askance at the tall Slytherin.

Ginny shook her head, waving her hands in front of her face. "We don't have time," she warned. "We need to get Snape."

Hermione knitted her brow in confusion but nodded, eyeing Blaise warily. She then turned and motioned for them to follow her as she led them to Snape's office. As they rounded the corner, they could hear someone running behind them—someone close to the ground and panting.

"SEVERUS!"

"What the—"

Filius Flitwick came bounding around the corner, sprinting past the teenagers and making a beeline for Snape's office. The Charms professor was clearly out of breath and dishevelled-looking as he approached the office door, violently pounding on it and yelling for Professor Snape.

Snape opened the door wide. "Filius?" he queried, peeking his head outside his office. "What is the matter?"

"Death Eaters," the Charms professor gasped, placing his hands on his knees. "They're in the school. They're heading towards the Astronomy Tower, I think. We've got to—"

The half-goblin wizard suddenly went stiff and collapsed onto the ground. Hermione and Ginny both gasped and instantly ran over to his aid.

"Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, attend to Professor Flitwick," Snape instructed, stepping past the Charms professor and drawing his wand. "I must go summon the Order."

Glancing at Blaise for a moment, the former Potions master took off towards the Entrance Hall, his black robes billowing behind him.

"The Order, my arse!" Ginny growled, standing to her feet.

"Ginny?" Hermione questioned, looking up at the redhead with concern.

"We have to get to the Astronomy Tower, now!" Ginny ordered, and then looked up at Blaise. "Zabini, make sure that Flitwick is okay. Hermione, Luna―come with me!"

**xXx**

Draco stood beside the Vanishing Cabinet, waiting…and waiting. They'd be coming soon—he had already sent word to Rosmerta. The Cabinet itself seemed to hum with excitement, and Draco could feel his heart flutter in his chest and then summarily plummet into his stomach. He tried to convince himself that it would all be over soon enough, but, really, it had only just begun.

Running his wand beneath his fingertips, Draco wondered what had happened to Ginny, knowing that she had not made it to Dumbledore. He had expected to be called into the headmaster's office, but no one came for him. The next morning, he had risen from the sofa in the Room of Requirement and still no Order had burst inside, bringing him to justice. So he ventured a walk outside and eventually attended classes. It was in Herbology that he heard the whispered murmurs about how Ginny Weasley had been found passed out in the dungeons—Professor Snape having taken her to the infirmary.

Relief and worry washed over Draco at once, and he had considered going to visit her, to see if she was okay. But what was the use? He was dead to her now. What if she were awake when he got there? She would just point him out as a would-be assassin. And she would be right—wouldn't she?

But he hadn't gone to see her. Instead, he saw his opportunity to strike and did so, calling his aunt. So he waited, standing back as Death Eaters poured in through the Cabinet—dressed in masks of death. Whispered words of oaths and deeds, Draco watched as men he didn't even like invaded his school—wizards whom Draco would have crossed the street to avoid. He led them all outside into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, shrouding their misdeeds in darkness as they made their way to the Astronomy Tower with death in their thoughts—murder in their hearts.

Draco wasn't sure who attacked first: his people or theirs. Even with the Hand of Glory, he could barely see through the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, which obliterated everything in sight. But he did see someone clearly—his blue eyes blazing through the clouded darkness—Ronald Weasley.

Then Draco heard a familiar voice: Ginny's. She was shouting spells: _Lumos_, _Incendio_—but nothing could penetrate the darkness. He heard her yell to her brother, telling him that Draco was going to kill Dumbledore. More shouts could be heard at the other end of the corridor. The Order had finally arrived.

"Draco, lead us to the tower," Alecto shrieked in his ear, and he scowled, trying to shrug her off.

Holding up the Hand of Glory high, Draco led them all through the fog of darkness. Amycus Carrow on his right; Alecto Carrow on his left—they cut a path through students and teachers, heading towards the Astronomy Tower, where the real threat lie…and with Ginny hot on his trail.

**xXx**

Neville Longbottom felt as though the battle would never end. Everything was happening so quickly, yet it was unfolding before his eyes so agonisingly slow that he wasn't certain the events were actually real. There were bursts of colours: angry reds and sickly greens, and blinding white lights—all eclipsed by total darkness, and then it would start all over again.

He and Ron had been watching Malfoy on the Marauders' Map. They thought they had him, but Draco ended up blind-sighting them with that damn Peruvian Darkness Power and using that shrivelled hand to guide himself and the other Death Eaters to the Astronomy Tower. Neville and Ron had just kept blasting at them blindly, hoping to hit a target or at least evade a hex. It was touch-and-go for a while, until they met up with the others to regroup.

Ginny had arrived with Hermione and Luna and had given her portion of the Felix Felicis to both himself and Luna. Neville was glad for the offer. He felt as though he was almost invincible right now. He had never been a gifted wizard, but he was dodging and countering spells almost as good as Hermione. Well, not as good as her, but certainly better than Ron.

When the Order finally arrived, he felt hope. Lupin, Tonks, Bill Weasley, and Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken off running, trying to get to the Astronomy Tower in time. In time for what, Neville did not know. What he did know was that everyone had congregated there, in front of the stairs to the lightning-struck tower. Hexes were flung back and forth, bodies hitting the ground; some were jumping right back up while others were not.

It was then that Neville saw him: Draco Malfoy. There was a wild, frightened look to his grey eyes. He looked shaken to his core, almost mad. Neville was almost sure that the blond looked terrified. With a sudden burst of strength and courage, Neville sped past the two Death Eaters who were flanking either side of the stairs. Hermione and Luna seemed to gather what he was planning to do for he saw their spells shoot past his left shoulder and then his right, giving him the cover fire that he needed.

Colour exploded as Neville lunged forward, naming off numerous spells—black, red, purple. Each spell fell short, either whizzing past Malfoy's ears or being blocked by masked figures—by wizards more powerful than Neville. All seemed hopeless now, even with the Order parrying hexes all around him. The Death Eaters on the stairs had set up multiple shields, each one protecting Malfoy. Malfoy was the key somehow, and Neville knew that if he could just get to the stairs then he could get to him, that he could bring the Slytherin down.

Dauntless, Neville leapt forward once more when a black shield was placed on the stairs, forcing him back. It was some kind of barrier—old magic. He tried to force his way through, but it kept throwing him back, unwilling to grant him permission to pass. On his third attempt, Neville was hit with a blinding spell and was sent flying backwards, only to land with a sickening thud and crack. He tried to draw in air, but it had been knocked out of his lungs.

Groggy but determined, Neville tried to sit up, his eyes scanning for his wand. He saw Malfoy turn on the stairs and glance down, aiming his wand. There was a burning fire in the blond's eyes, unlike the hint of desperation and madness that Neville had seen earlier. In that moment, Draco Malfoy appeared lucid and positively livid.

Neville reached for his wand and winced, knowing that he was not faster than Malfoy. He opened his eyes and awaited his fate, staring the blond dead in the eye. That was when he noticed that Malfoy wasn't looking at him; he was looking _past _him. Neville followed his gaze and turned his head, looking for what or who the Slytherin was aiming his wand at. His eyes widened slightly as he saw Fenrir Greyback come up behind Ginny. He saw the brief outline of the effects of a _Protego_ spell shielding the redhead, knocking the Death Eater away.

Fenrir staggered back and shook his head and stopped, sniffing around. He soon found another victim: Bill Weasley. Just as Fenrir attacked Bill, another Death Eater was on Ginny. He, too, was deflected with a Shield Charm, and Ginny was able to Disarm him. Neville looked back to see Malfoy close his mouth and lower his wand, turning around to run up the stairs. It was the last thing Neville remembered before he fell unconscious.

Draco Malfoy had saved Ginny Weasley's life.

**xXx**

Draco made his way up the spiral stairs and burst through the door. There, in front of him, stood the headmaster, who was standing against the bulwark of the tower.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Draco yelled, watching Dumbledore's wand fly up and over the ramparts.

"Good evening, Draco," the old wizard greeted politely, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Dumbledore was standing against the ramparts, his hands balancing against the wall, as though for support. His eyes showed no signs of panic or distress, but his face was pale—terribly pale. Uncomfortable with the scene in front of him, Draco dropped his gaze and then noticed a second broom leaning against the wall.

"Who else is here?" Draco asked, swallowing hard.

"A question I might ask you," Dumbledore said softly. "Or are you acting alone?"

"No," Draco said as confidently as possible, holding up his wand hand, "I've got backup. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight."

"Well, well," Dumbledore said, impressed. "Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?"

"Yeah," Draco said, panting as he glanced around nervously. Why were there two brooms? Who else was here? "Right under your nose, and you never realised."

"Ingenious," Dumbledore said, sounding impressed yet again. "Yet…forgive me…" He paused, as though in great pain. "Where are they now? You seem unsupported."

"They met some of your guard," Draco said, his wand hand wavering. "They're having a fight down below. They won't be long…" He paused, licking his lips. "I came on ahead. I—I've got a job to do."

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," Dumbledore encouraged softly.

There was an audible click as Draco swallowed. He stared unwaveringly at the headmaster, who merely smiled at him. _Smiled_. Even the sounds of fighting below could not tear his eyes away from the gentle sage in front of him. Why did he look at him like that? What did he know?

"Draco," Dumbledore said in a soothing voice. "Draco, you are not a killer."

"How do you know?" Draco snapped, feeling his sense of control seep away. "You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've done!"

"Oh, yes, I do," Dumbledore said, his rheumatic blue eyes looking more clearer than they ever had. "You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts, so feeble, to be honest that I wonder whether your heart has really been in it."

"It _has_ been in it!" Draco spat vehemently. "I've been working on it all year, and tonight—"

Suddenly, in the depths of the castle below, there was a muffled yell. Draco stiffened and glanced over his shoulder, wondering who it could be. It sounded like a girl's voice…

"Somebody is putting up a good fight," Dumbledore said conversationally, trying to draw Draco's attention. "But you were saying…Yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible. How did you do it?"

Draco heard the headmaster's words, but he did not focus on them. Instead, he was paralysed, listening to the sounds below. Was anyone else coming? Would he have to do this alone? Was Ginny hurt? He had tried his best to save her before he charged up the stairs of the lightning-struck tower, but she was so stubborn, so foolish, so—

"Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone," Dumbledore suggested, picking through the din of Draco's tangled thoughts. "What if your back-up has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realised, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight, too. And after all, you don't really need help…" He struggled to stand against the ramparts. "I have no wand at the moment. I cannot defend myself."

Draco merely stared at the headmaster, swallowing. He _was_ alone, defenceless. This was his perfect opportunity, so why didn't he take it? Why couldn't he do it?

"I see," Dumbledore said kindly after a moment. "You are afraid to act until they join you."

"I'm not afraid!" Draco snarled, raising his wand. "It's you who should be scared!"

"But why?" Dumbledore said softly, not flippantly. "I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe. So tell me, while we wait for your friends—how did you smuggle them in here?"

Draco felt as though he was going to vomit. He didn't want to explain his treachery, but somehow the old wizard seemed to command his attention. And so he told him everything: the Vanishing Cabinets, the oak mead, the opal necklace. Almost everything, except Ginny.

"Yeah, well, you didn't realise who was behind that stuff, did you?" Draco found himself saying, stalling until the others joined him. He didn't know why, but the thought of being alone with the headmaster frightened him terribly.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Dumbledore said, sliding down the ramparts, his legs failing him. "I was sure it was you."

Draco blinked slowly, lowering his wand. "Why didn't you stop me then?"

"I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders—"

"He hasn't been doing _your_ orders," Draco sneered, feeling repulsed by the displays of the feeble man in front of him. "He promised my mother—"

"Of course, that is what he would tell you, Draco, but—"

"He's a double agent! He isn't working for you!"

"We must agree to differ on that, Draco—"

Draco didn't remember ranting or raving at Dumbledore, but he did. All he could think to do was blather on while he waited for the others to arrive. He just couldn't do it; he couldn't kill Dumbledore by himself. So he stalled, saying whatever came to mind—whatever he needed to do to distract him from his mission.

"Do not use that offensive word in front of me," Dumbldore chastised, and Draco's mind reeled for a moment.

What had he been talking about? Right, Granger.

"You care about me saying 'Mudblood' when I'm about to kill you?" Draco said with incredulous laughter.

Dumbledore was certainly made of sterner stuff than Draco had imagined, and as the headmaster went on to tell Draco that _he_ wasn't made of that sterner stuff, he faltered. His mouth contorted involuntarily. Dumbledore was right.

"…Nobody has been murdered?"

Draco's head snapped up to meet the professor's gaze.

"I, uh…" He paused, licking his lips. "Someone's dead—one of your people…" Draco's voice rose an octave. "I stepped over a body…"

Draco struggled to keep his composure, remembering the lifeless eyes that stared up at him. He wondered, too, if Ginny's brown eyes were now glazed over, milky brown. He shuddered at the thought.

Just then, there was a great commotion erupting from below—shouts that grew louder than ever. It sounded as though people were actually fighting on the spiral staircase, fast approaching.

"Let's discuss your options, Draco," Dumbledore said evenly.

"My options!" Draco exclaimed loudly. "I'm standing here with a wand—I'm about to kill you—"

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me. You would have not stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

"I haven't got any options!" Draco shouted, feeling as weak and pale as Dumbledore looked—and as fragile. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position…"

Draco tuned Dumbledore out. What did he know about the difficulty of his position? Was his family held hostage with a figurative knife held to their throats? Was the Sword of Damocles hanging above _his_ head, threatening to drop at any second? And was he on one side of the war while the person he cared about the most was on the other? What did he know about his position? What did he know?

"I can help you, Draco."

"No, you can't," Draco said, his wand hand shaking badly, like his voice. "Nobody can. He told me to do it, or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

"Draco, you are not a killer."

The words rang in his ears. He _wasn't_ a killer. What made him think that he could do this? It was so easy to talk the talk, but it was an entirely different matter to walk the walk. And now he had lost someone that he cared about because of it—because of this stupid war. But if he didn't do what the Dark Lord had set out for him to do, he'd lose his parents…and his life.

Just then, the sound of hurrying footsteps thundered up the stairs, and a second later Draco was buffeted out of the way as Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, and Fenrir Greyback burst through the door onto the ramparts.

"Dumbledore cornered," Amycus Carrow crooned in his snivelling voice, leering at the headmaster. "Dumbledore wandless! Dumbledore alone!" He clapped gleefully, giving a wheezing laugh. "Well done, Draco. Well done!"

The Carrow siblings cackled, exchanging insults and trying feebly to intimidate an unflappable wizard. Dumbledore, however, would not take the bait. Instead, he was civil—that is until Fenrir Greyback intervened, causing Draco to glance away nervously, repulsed by the situation that he was in. Why was this monster even here?

Shaking his head, Draco looked pleadingly at Dumbledore. "I didn't," he breathed, feeling sick to his stomach, "I didn't know that he was going to come—"

Leering, Fenrir took this opportunity to try to intimidate Dumbledore, but failed miserably.

"I could do you for afters, Dumbledore…"

"No," Dolohov said sharply. "We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly."

Draco swallowed hard, terrified. He watched as Dumbledore slid down along the wall. He was pale and weak and looked as though he was already dying. But even Draco could not kill a dying man. He couldn't even kill his worst enemy—he just didn't have it in him.

He's not long for this world anyway," Amycus said with a wheezing laugh. "Look at him! What's happened to you, Dumby?"

"Oh, weaker resistance, slower reflexes, Amycus."

Then came the sounds of scuffling and shouts from below.

_"They've blocked the stairs—Reducto! REDUCTO!"_

"Now, Draco, quickly!" Dolohov shouted angrily.

But Draco could barely hold up his wand hand. Fenrir could see this, and threatened to do it for him. Dolohov, however, would have none of this.

"Draco! Do it!" Alecto screeched.

At that exact moment, the door to the ramparts burst open once more, and there stood Severus Snape, wand in hand. His black eyes swept the scene, from Draco to Dumbledore, who was slumped up against the wall.

"We've got a problem, Snape," Amycus said, pointing at Draco. "The boy doesn't seem able—"

But someone else had spoken Snape's name, quite softly.

"Severus…"

Draco could only watch with a sense of dread and humility as Dumbledore begged, holding a shaking, gloved hand out to Snape, who had slowly raised his wand.

"Severus…please…"

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

A jet of green light shot out from the end of Snape's wand, and Draco watched in horror as the spell hit its target, sending Dumbledore reeling back and through the air, falling backwards like a great rag doll, over the bulwark and out of sight.

Albus Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and possibly the most powerful wizard in the entire world, was dead.

**xXx**

"Out of here, quickly," Severus hissed, seizing Draco by the scruff of his neck and pushing him out the door ahead of the rest of the Death Eaters.

He had just killed Albus Dumbledore, and he hated the man for it—almost as much as he hated himself. How dare he put him in that position?

Running quickly, Severus dodged the hexes and curses that were slung past his ears and over his head, pushing Draco forward. All that mattered was that he and Draco escape. Somehow, he knew that Potter was after him, and when they finally made it outside onto the grounds, the Boy Wonder made his presence known.

"_Stupefy_!"

Snape easily deflected the spell and pushed Draco ahead.

"_Run_, Draco!"

"_Cruc_—"

Deflecting the spell, Snape turned around, facing the boy head on.

"He trusted you!" Potter snarled, angry tears brimming his green eyes. "Fight back! Fight back, you coward—"

"Coward, did you call me, Potter?" Snape jeered. "Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one. I wonder what you would call him."

"_Stup_—"

"Deflected yet again, Potter," Severus said patronisingly, wishing the boy would just go back inside the castle. "Give up."

"_Sectum_—"

"You _dare_ to use my own spell on me?" Severus spat, outraged at Potter's impudence.

Potter looked up, however, his face twisted with horror and pain, and Severus jeered.

"I _am_ the Half-Blood Prince!"

The boy looked as though he was about to vomit, and Severus could not help but sneer. Typical that he did not know, that he could never imagine that the very person who wrote the spells that he used, that he valued and admired, was standing right in front of him.

"Kill me!" Potter demanded suddenly. "Kill me like you did Dumbledore. Kill me, you coward—"

"DO _NOT_ CALL ME A COWARD!" Severus Snape roared, pointing his wand square between the boy's eyes.

Potter had no clue, no idea what a coward was, or a hero for that matter. He could never be more wrong about the man who stood before him―the man he hated; the man he wanted to kill.

Severus released his seething anger and recomposed himself, lowering his wand and grimacing. Turning his back to Potter, Severus gripped his wand tightly. The foolish boy's words wounded Severus more than he would have ever liked to admit. Killing Dumbledore had been like killing a part of himself―that small, redeemable part. There was no going back now. There was no safety net…There never was.

As Severus walked away to join the other Death Eaters, he saw his 'favourite' student, Draco, looking back at the school with a mixture of sadness and regret etched in his dark grey eyes―two sentiments that Severus wholly understood. And it was in that moment that he pitied the boy almost as much as he pitied himself. He wondered what Draco regretted the most: the death of Dumbledore or bringing Death Eaters into the school to maim and kill innocent students, possibly even his own housemates, his own friends.

What Severus didn't know, at the time, was that Draco Malfoy's regret lie much deeper and more personal than that. Like Severus, Draco had no safety net, and also, like Severus, he had lost his chance at love, at connecting with someone on a level that he had never thought possible. Draco hadn't just lost a headmaster and a home that he had known for the past six years: he had lost hope.

**xXx**

The turn out for Albus Dumbledore's funeral was impressive. Witches and wizards from the highest and the lowest social standing in society came to pay their respects. No eulogy was needed: the greatness of Dumbledore was well-known. No words had to be spoken, for they would have only paled in comparison to the feelings that the noble wizard inspired.

When the spectacular displays and tributes of honour were made, Ginny turned from Harry, Hermione, and Ron and made her way to where Luna and Neville stood. Neville had been released from the infirmary a few days before the funeral. He, like so many others, was determined to attend.

"So, do you know what Harry's going to do?" Neville asked Ginny once she approached.

"You know Harry—the Trio—they're going to save the day," Ginny responded with a half-smile, turning her head to stare at Dumbledore's white tomb.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were going to set off on their own, leaving her behind. It was expected. She knew she would not be invited. Besides, what could she do? She was an average witch with no hidden talent or skills. The numerous secrets of Dumbledore's had been shared with and given to Harry alone. As capable as she knew those three were, Ginny couldn't help but feel utter hopelessness and despair. These were her friends, her brother. What if they never came back? What if they—

The tears that had come so easily before the funeral had dried up; she could not cry any more. She could not save her friends, save her loved ones. All she could do was sit back and wait for the inevitable.

"I wish we could help them," Neville said quietly, shaking Ginny from the feelings of desperation and self-doubt.

"You will, in your own way," a deep voice announced from behind, startling all three.

Ginny turned to see the tall, dark-skinned Slytherin looking down at them sombrely, his golden eyes lit with the knowledge of valuable secrets. She wanted to spit at him, to tell him to sod off, but she couldn't even open her mouth to speak—feeling that if she did, she would once more break down and cry. Luna, however, had the strength that Ginny could not muster.

"You seem so sure that we can make a difference," Luna commented with a sad smile, looking up at Blaise for an explanation.

"I am," he said confidently, and even Neville seemed placated by this news. "You all will."

Ginny snorted derisively, and they all turned to look at her.

"For all that you see, _Morpheus_," she spat bitterly, her eyes dry and red-rimmed, "you stand here and do nothing!"

"Ginny—"

"You could have prevented all of this!" Ginny shouted, spittle flying. "You could have stopped Dr—Malfoy from killing, from..."

"Malfoy didn't kill Dumbledore, Ginny," Neville said softly, putting a hand on the redhead's shoulder. "Snape did—Harry said so."

"I know!" Ginny hiccupped, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, forcing Neville to drop his. "But _Blaise_ knew what was going to happen, what Malfoy was going to do—letting Death Eaters into the school." She balled her hands into fists and glared at the Slytherin. "You could have stopped this!"

"I could have," Blaise agreed softly, shaking his head, "but Albus told me not to."

"Why?"

Blaise looked away. "He had his reasons."

"Well, you can tell us them now—can't you?" Ginny demanded. "Dumbledore is the one you swore the oath to, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Yes," Ginny repeated with a defeated laugh. "So why don't you tell us then? Tell _me_ why all of this—" she motioned to the funeral pyre with a wave of her hand "—was necessary!"

"I will," Blaise said lowly, his golden eyes flickering in the sunlight, "but not now."

"Why!"

The god's countenance darkened, and he stood to full height. "The fight―the _real_ fight―has just begun," he said sinisterly, narrowing his eyes on Ginny. "Events have been set in motion that cannot be undone, and you must focus on _this _first—what has happened here, now—before you can figure out what your next move will be."

Ginny laughed, bringing her hands to her head in frustration, and shook—literally shook with rage.

"Then what is the point in you even being here any more?" she asked, dropping her hands to her sides. "Why bother trying to change our behaviour or our fate with those _stupid_ dreams?"

"This is bigger than the dreams," Blaise said evenly, shaking his head. "The dreams were just a catalyst." He leaned forward, whispering, "It's fate, Ginevra—it's destiny."

Ginny hiccupped back a sob and nodded helplessly. "Right," she snorted. "_Destiny_."

"Your destiny awaits you whether you greet her or not," Blaise said warningly, glancing at Luna before turning his attention back to Ginny. "She is a fickle mistress, and she does not wait for those who are uncertain, for those who doubt."

Ginny looked up, tears finally brimming in her red-rimmed brown eyes.

"You and Draco share a fate—a fate that affects everyone here just as much as destiny affects Potter and Voldemort," Blaise said sagely, placing a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Deliver Draco, Ginevra, and you may just deliver freedom."

Ginny opened her mouth, shaking her head. "Deliver him?" she asked incredulously. "Why?" She violently shook off Blaise's arm. "Malfoy poisoned my brother; he tried to kill Dumbledore; he let in Death Eaters and Fenrir Greyback, who disfigured Bill..."

Neville and Luna remained quiet, watching Ginny and Blaise with a sense of wonder.

"I was sent here to give dreams and visions to heroes," Blaise said softly, "to show them their paths."

Ginny clawed at her cheeks with her nails. "Our paths were never meant to cross!" she protested, shakily lowering her hands to her sides. "You _made_ our paths; you forced us down them." She bit her lip and briefly turned to look at Dumbledore's tomb. "Malfoy is certainly no hero…and neither am I."

"Maybe you are," Luna stated wistfully. "Maybe you _both_ are." She drew her robes tightly around her, trying to insulate herself from the sudden damp and the howling wind. "The path to becoming a hero is wrought with danger and disappointment. Sacrifices have to be made, for liberty cannot be obtained without tears, without toil, without bloodshed."

She took in a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet Dumbledore's tomb. Ginny and Neville looked at Luna with heavy hearts, following her gaze.

"Perhaps you are _meant_ to save him," she continued softly, glancing over her shoulder at Ginny, who was now scowling at the blonde through her tears.

"After all that he has done to me and my family, why would I, Luna?" Ginny asked scathingly, turning to face the white tomb once more.

She felt numb inside. She was not just shedding tears for their dear headmaster: she was crying for her family, for Ron and for Bill, and for herself―wallowing in anger for the betrayal that she felt in her heart.

"Why would I save him?" she whispered, not bothering to wipe away the fallen tears.

"Why wouldn't you?" Luna countered with a sad smile touching her lips. "Don't heroes save people, even those who don't deserve to be saved?"

Blaise, who stood stoically by her side, nodded in silence.

"A true heroine knows that in order to save someone, she must first learn to forgive," Luna added solemnly.

"And what if I _do_ forgive him, Luna?" Ginny asked defiantly, no longer able to halt the ebb and flow of her emotions. "What can that do for _me_—for everyone else standing here today?"

Luna's hair whipped in the breeze, assaulting her eyes as she took in the sight before her—the sea of people who surrounded them in mourning. Fawkes's threnody echoed off the trees, carrying in the wind, touching their hearts.

"Offer a chance," Luna answered softly, inclining her head to face Ginny.

Ginny swallowed hard, shaking her head as she looked down at her feet. "A chance for what?"

"Redemption," Luna replied simply. "The chance for redemption."

**End of Book One**

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**Author notes**: And so ends Book One, _Prelude_. Book Two, _The Affair_, begins with the DH storyline.

Many thanks to **Kim** (Boogum) for her invaluable beta-ing. ^_^

**Disclaimer**: Some scenes were 'stolen' from the book, the Half-Blood Prince. Of course, I tried my very best to make it as close to what is in the book without completely plagiarising. I hated having to do it at all, but I _am_ trying to follow canon (albeit slightly AU). Therefore, I take no credit for the following scenes: 1) the snippet of dialogue between Draco and Snape at the end of The Unbreakable Vow (15), 2) the exchange between Draco and Dumbledore, as well as the very last scene where Snape kills Dumbledore from The Lightning-Stuck Tower chapter (27), and 3) the interaction between Snape and Harry throughout The Prince's Flight (28), pages 302-303; 546-556; 562-564, respectively.


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